


Ember & Ash

by Annissa



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Cinderella Elements, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Jareth, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Horror, graphic depictions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annissa/pseuds/Annissa
Summary: Twenty-three years after Sarah ran the Labyrinth, on the evening of Samhain, the power will shift.





	1. Part 1: Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, Trigger Warnings:  
> This is not a happy fic. These are bad people/mythical creatures doing bad things. In this fic, there are graphic depictions of violence, gore, graphic depictions of sex, and sexual assault, not necessarily in that order. This story is far more Brothers Grimm than Walt Disney. If you find these circumstances triggering, please do not read this fic. Your mental health is significantly more important to me than page views.

Sarah grunted around the bundle of mail in her mouth as she kicked open the door of her small office. Pulling the keys from the door, she dropped them onto the desk that stood just inside the door, lifted the vacuum cleaner, then scooted sideways through the narrow doorway, a tote of cleaning supplies in her other hand. She dropped the tote on the table, then removed the small stack of mail from her mouth and tossed it next to the tote. She set the vacuum cleaner down on the far side of the room. She’d come back to it later.

Returning to the desk, she began sorting through the mail, tossing the sales circulars into the trashcan and setting aside the invoices for later. The occasional check sent by mistake to the office rather than the bank lockbox went into the desk drawer to be locked up until Monday, when the banks reopened. Among the junk mail, she found a large, stiff envelope of cream-colored parchment. Its presence did not surprise her; one exactly like it had appeared every October 31 for the past twenty-three years. As she drew it from the pile, an intimately familiar thrill wound its way down her spine. 

She ran her fingers over the envelope, trying to feel the indentation the pen had made as it travelled across the parchment, spelling out her name in elegant calligraphy. She wondered - as she always did - if he had written it himself and shivered, a hint of a smile playing around her mouth. Twenty-three years and he still wanted her. Whatever curveballs life had thrown at her, at least she had that.

Sitting back in her chair, she gave herself another moment to relish that feeling, that sense of power she always got when the letter was delivered. He could send her invitations, but he could do no more. He couldn’t come to her. He couldn’t force her to come to him. She caressed the envelope one last time, then leaned forward and dropped it into the trashcan.

A smaller envelope, much lower in quality than the one she’d just tossed, caught her attention. She opened it and removed a snapshot. Her stomach sank as she looked at the photograph. Her father stood on a sandy beach under a cloudless sky, his arms around two women, one dark-haired and middle-aged and the other young and red-headed. She turned the photo over and found a short note from her father.

_Sarah,_

_I was disappointed to hear you couldn’t join us for this year’s family vacation, but Rhiannon explained the situation. Next time, please ask if you need some money. This would have been a great opportunity to spend some time with your new mother and sister, and you know I’m happy to help out when your financial situation gets tight. Tahiti was fantastic! Hope you decide to come next time!_

_Love,  
Dad_

Sarah rolled her eyes at her father calling Vanessa her mother and Rhiannon her sister. She noticed that Toby was conspicuously absent from the photo and wondered what excuse Rhiannon had given to avoid having her new step-brother join them on their “family” vacation. 

Throwing the photograph back on the desk, she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. It was getting late and she still needed to get through the stack of invoices and set the schedule for Monday. Plus, that vacuum cleaner wasn’t working properly and she’d need it for Monday when Tameka came back to work. 

Telling herself that there was no time like the present, Sarah rose from her chair and kneeled down next to the old Oreck, tipping it onto its side to study the beater brush. She rolled it with her fingers, hoping to find something snagged around it.

Nothing.

She tipped it upright again and tried to pull down the zipper of the dust bag. She tugged harder, but it refused to move. Reaching for her nearby toolbox, she pulled out a pair of pliers. Using the pliers to firmly grip the zipper, she pulled hard, only registering the sound of tearing fabric as the cloud of dust and ash enveloped her.

Coughing and sputtering, Sarah stood and waved the dust away with her hands. As it cleared, she took a closer look and found that the disposable, inner vacuum bag hadn’t been replaced. Crouching down once more, she ran her hand through the dust, sifting it with her fingers and finding small bits of charcoal.

“Did she use this to clean a fireplace?” Sarah wondered aloud, her anger flaring. She stood, glared at the machine, and wondered if it would be worth it to take it to the shop for repair or if she should just bite the bullet and shell out the money for a replacement. The business was growing, but a new industrial-strength vacuum cleaner would cost more than she’d really like to shell out at the moment.

With quick, determined steps, she went to the small bulletin board on which all of her employees’ names were pinned. The names were arranged in pairs, showing who each employee would be working with. She pulled down a tag emblazoned with the name Tameka, glared at it, then crossed back to the desk and threw the tag in the trashcan. Tameka may have been one of Sarah’s better workers, but Sarah just couldn’t tolerate the destruction of company property. Sarah stared down at the nametag in the trashcan and tried not to feel guilty.

The high-pitched laughter that erupted behind her did nothing to improve her mood.

“What happened to you?” the voice asked.

Sarah turned to find her stepsister standing in the doorway to her office.

“Hello Rhiannon,” Sarah said, resignedly.

“For someone who owns a cleaning company, you sure are dirty.”

“Just a hazard of the trade,” Sarah sighed.

“Are you actually going to fire that girl?” Rhiannon asked, looking at the nametag in the trashcan. 

Sarah bristled. Her company was none of Rhiannon’s business. “What do you want?” she asked.

Rhiannon studied the trashcan, squinting her eyes a little. Finally, she looked back at Sarah. “I’ve been calling you all day. Did you forget your cell phone again?”

Sarah’s brow furrowed in confusion. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out her smartphone and hit the home button. Nothing. “Oh…” Sarah said. “The battery died.” 

“You should upgrade that. I know you don’t have much money, but you can get last year’s model really cheap right now.”

“Mm, yeah. About that,” Sarah said, setting her phone on her desk next to her keys and lifting the photograph to show Rhiannon the note on the back. “What, exactly, did you tell him?”

Rhiannon at least had the decency to blush. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want to be embarrassed by not having the right clothes for the trip.”

“You could have invited me and let me decide whether or not I had the money.”

“Come on, Sarah. Cleaners don’t take trips to Tahiti.”

“But nineteen-year-old college drop-outs do?”

Rhiannon scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You didn’t go to college at all!” She crossed her arms defensively. “And I didn’t drop out. I’m just taking a break before I go back next year.”

“Mmhmm.” They both knew Rhiannon would live with her mother until she found a man rich enough to interest her and dumb enough to marry her.

“Sarah,” Rhiannon said, her voice taking on a wheedling tone. “I didn’t come here to fight. I need a favor.”

Sarah closed her eyes and braced herself. “What?”

“I want to hire you to clean the house.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, her eyes widening in surprise. Karen had always kept the old Victorian spotless, but it didn’t surprise Sarah that Vanessa wasn’t as fastidious. “Ok, I’m sure I could work it into the schedule.” Sarah sat down in her desk chair and moved the mouse on her computer to bring up the master schedule. “A house that size would take four man-hours to clean at $65 per man-hour. How many times per month did you want me to send them?” she asked, looking for a two-hour slot in which a pair of cleaners were available. She felt a moment of pride as she looked over the schedule. At the rate her business was growing, she’d have to hire more employees soon.

“You’d charge us to clean your own house?” Rhiannon replied, shocked.

Sarah raised an eyebrow and turned to face her stepsister. “I haven’t lived there for twenty years, Rhiannon. And this is my _business_. You don’t expect me to work for free, do you?”

“I didn’t expect you to take advantage of your own family, Sarah. I just thought it would be a nice favor from you to daddy.”

Sarah cringed at the word “daddy.”

“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “I’m not sending cleaners to the house to work for free. You can pay me - and them - or you can clean it yourself.” 

She knew the conversation wasn’t over yet; Rhiannon would have a tantrum first. Knowing her stepsister wasn’t leaving anytime soon, Sarah stood from the desk, crossed the room to the cleaning supply cabinet, pulled a broom from within, and began sweeping up the mess around the vacuum cleaner.

She heard the sound of tearing paper and looked up to see what Rhiannon had gotten into. Her blood ran cold when she recognized the cream-colored envelope in her stepsister’s hands.

“Put that down, Rhiannon,” Sarah demanded, but Rhiannon was already pulling the invitation from the envelope, her eyes going wide as she read the words.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice all awe and excitement. “Sarah, you got invited to a Halloween Ball! Why would you just throw this away?”

“I want nothing to do with the person who sent that. And neither do you.” The lies fell easily from her tongue. “Put it back in the trash and forget you ever saw it.”

“Sarah,” Rhiannon whined. “I want to go! Would you take me? Please? Pretty please?”

An image appeared unbidden in Sarah’s head. She and Rhiannon, side by side, standing before Jareth at the ball. Sarah, much older now than she’d been when she’d last seen him, wearing cleaning clothes and covered in ash. And Rhiannon, looking young and beautiful, dressed in one of the expensive dresses her mother bought for her.

“What?” Sarah asked in mock shock. “You’d deign to be seen in public with a humble housecleaner?”

“You could actually be kind of pretty if you just cleaned yourself up. You could borrow one of my old dresses if you can’t afford a new one.”

In her imagination, she was now wearing one of Rhiannon’s entirely inappropriate dresses. She imagined the sneer on Jareth’s face as he passed her over and offered his arm to her stepsister.

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m going…”

“Then let me go in your place!” Rhiannon interrupted.

“...And neither are you,” Sarah finished, raising her voice to be heard over Rhiannon.

The two women glared at each other.

“Throw it away,” Sarah hissed through her teeth, emphasizing each word. Rhiannon only stared back at her defiantly, and Sarah pursed her lips, readying for a fight. She turned to lay the broom against the wall. 

“Ok, fine!” Rhiannon relented. Sarah turned back toward her stepsister and watched her drop the envelope into the trashcan. Rhiannon stalked to the door, but turned before leaving. “You’re a real bitch sometimes. You know that, right?” Tossing her long, red hair, she left the office, slamming the door behind her.

“Yeah, I know,” Sarah sighed. She frowned at the door, realizing guiltily that her main concern had been that Rhiannon might catch Jareth’s attention, when she really ought to have been more concerned for her stepsister’s safety. “Last thing I need is to save another sibling from the Goblin King,” she muttered. It was a nobler rationale than jealousy, and hearing the words spoken aloud made her feel slightly better.

Her guilt somewhat appeased, she turned back to her work, finishing cleaning the ash, throwing the day’s dirty rags into the washing machine, and folding the clean rags for her employees to use on Monday. She then began the administrative tasks of paying the bills, writing out the deposits, preparing the monthly invoices, and setting the schedule for Monday. She rearranged the nametags on the corkboard, assigning each cleaner to a partner and putting the addresses of the homes in envelopes pinned next to their names. One name, her own, stood with no partner, an envelope containing the addresses of three homes next it. There was no way she could clean three homes in a single day.

Sarah stood back and sighed, glancing at the clock. It was nearly nine o’clock and she’d been working since seven that morning. And now she had more homes to clean than she had teams to cover them. She hung her head for a moment, then went to the trashcan.

“It’s your lucky day, Tameka,” Sarah said as she reached into the can to pull out the nametag. As she pushed the heavy parchment envelope aside, she noticed it wasn’t as stiff as it ought to be. Puzzled, she pulled it out of the bin and peeked inside. It was empty. She moved the refuse around in the trashcan and looked around the desk. The invitation was gone.

“Fuck.”

In her imagination, she watched Jareth and Rhiannon walk away from her, arm-in-arm.

“Fuck,” she repeated, grabbing her keys and running out the door to her car.

It had been twenty-three years since her run through the Labyrinth. Twenty-three years of invitations to balls celebrating Samhain. Twenty-three identical invitations, always delivered on the day of the ball. She didn’t even bother opening them anymore. The time and date were always the same: October the thirty-first at nine o’clock in the evening. The address was nonsense, something off of Tweed Boulevard, smack dab in the center of Blauvelt State Park where no building actually stood. She suspected, however, that it wouldn’t be an issue on this night.

Sarah threw the old Chevy Blazer into drive and hit the gas, hoping Rhiannon believed in being “fashionably late.”

A fog descended as she neared the park and grew thicker the further in she drove, causing her to slow the Blazer on the narrow road. If she’d been moving faster, going even the speed limit, she’d have missed the turnoff. But she’d grown up in this area and had visited this park often, so when she came to the fork in the road - a fork that had not been there any other time she’d visited - she knew she’d arrived. The road rose sharply above Tweed Boulevard and the fog began to lift as she continued. By the time she pulled into the large, circular driveway, the night sky was clear once more.

The house beyond the driveway could more accurately be described as a Jacobethan castle and light poured out of dozens of windows on the front facade. Sarah did her best to ignore the sight, unwilling to allow herself to be awed by the show of wealth. She focused instead on the sight of a redhead in a vivid red dress traipsing up the front steps to the door. Sarah came to a screeching halt in front of the stairs.

Rhiannon, at the top of the staircase, turned for a moment to see what had caused the sound.

Sarah flung her door open and set one foot on the pavement. “Rhiannon, stop!” she shouted.

As the front door opened, Rhiannon grinned at Sarah, waggled her fingers in a sarcastic “hello,” then turned and entered the enormous house. The door closed behind her with a sonorous thud.

Sarah weighed her options. For twenty-three years, she’d had the upper hand. He had no power over her and she liked it that way. She’d always known that if she ever answered the invitation, the balance of power could shift. But now… Now Rhiannon might upset that balance if Sarah did nothing. 

Beautiful, selfish Rhiannon… So much like Sarah had been when she’d run the Labyrinth. Except Rhiannon possessed something Sarah hadn’t had when she’d first encountered the Goblin King. Rhiannon was comfortable with herself. She had an easy, sensual manner that Sarah suspected Jareth would like. Perhaps even more than he liked Sarah.

And if Jareth moved on… if she lost the one piece of her life over which she had absolute control… 

Sarah shook off the thought. No, there were more important considerations, she told herself. For all she didn’t understand it, her father loved Rhiannon. She imagined taking his phone calls. Taking her stepmother’s phone calls. She thought of the inevitable visit from police officers.

No, there was no way she could leave Rhiannon alone in there. For her father’s sake, for her stepmother’s sake, Sarah would have to go in and pull her stepsister out before she got in too deep.

“Fuck,” she cursed, slamming the door of the Blazer and heading toward the front door.


	2. Part 2: Setting Expectations

Sarah shivered. The October air had developed a bite, but she climbed the steps with slow trepidation, preferring the cold to whatever awaited her inside. The front door was much larger than it looked from down below, easily three times her own height and so wide that her arm span wouldn’t reach even halfway across. In the center of the door, right at Sarah’s eyeline, was a knocker. Sarah gasped quietly when she recognized the ugly thing, and then she approached it cautiously.

“Hello?” she asked it tentatively.

No response.

She lifted the ring dangling from its mouth and pulled, hoping to dislodge it. It pivoted towards her, but it did not budge otherwise. Sarah let it drop and was shocked when the sound of the knocker seemed to echo throughout the house. The door cracked open less than a second later and a short, balding man stood before her.

He looked her over, lifted his chin, and asked in a voice raspy with age, “Invitation?” As he spoke, he gestured for her to enter.

Sarah stepped into the foyer and glanced around. All of the doors leading out of the entry had been closed, encouraging guests to climb the large staircase that curled around the side of the room to a balcony on the second floor. What lay beyond the balcony was blocked from her view.

“I’m with the redhead that just came in,” she said, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder.

“Invitation?” he said again, seemingly not hearing her.

“I said I’m with the redhead that just came in,” Sarah repeated a little louder.

“If you do not have an invitation, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave,” the man rasped.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I just need to get my sister first.” Sarah turned to the staircase.

“Plaskitt! Birkwhistle!” the old butler called, his whispery voice hardly rising at all.

Two men, one large and stocky, the other shorter and slight, stepped in front of the staircase, their hands folded in front of them. 

“I don’t suppose you’d let me pass if I solve some kind of riddle?” she asked doubtfully.

Birkwhistle raised an eyebrow, but Plaskitt did not react at all.

“If you do not have an invitation, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave,” the butler said once more.

Sarah looked back up the stairs, her temper flaring. She knew life wasn’t fair - no one knew that better than she did - but she was sick and tired of Rhiannon taking her things. She already had Sarah’s old room, Sarah’s trip to Tahiti, and the attention of Sarah’s father. Sarah would be damned if the new interloper took this away from her, too. But there was no way around the two bouncers, not with the way their attention was already trained on her. 

“Montjoy!” 

Sarah whirled around to find an older woman with a pronounced hump on her back walking toward them from one of the closed-off wings of the house. She wore a severe black dress softened only by a ruffled, white apron.

“Do you mean to keep this pretty young thing away from the ball? Honestly, old man, it’s as if you’ve forgotten the entire point of it!” the woman scolded the butler - Montjoy, apparently. Sarah raised an eyebrow at being called “young.”

Montjoy, his face a mask of irritation, stepped back as the old woman pushed him out of the way, took Sarah’s elbow, and led her back through the door from which she had come.

Sarah followed without a fight. The old woman seemed to have some kind of authority over the butler and the bouncers and, as far as Sarah could tell, she intended to help Sarah get upstairs. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“What _is_ the point of the ball?” Sarah whispered to her as they passed through a door into a long corridor. 

“It’s the celebration of Samhain! The end of the harvest and the beginning of the dark half of the year. But it looks like you started celebrating early, dear,” she said kindly, brushing some of the ash off of Sarah’s arm. “Not to worry, we’ll get you all cleaned up and presentable.”

She led Sarah to a door halfway down the hall and ushered her into the lushly decorated guest suite.

“Some of the ladies leave the most interesting things behind every year,” she said, opening a wardrobe and rummaging around inside. “I just hate to throw any of it away, so I stash it all in the guest rooms, just in case someone should need it. Ah, here we go!” She turned from the closet with a deep green ballgown held against herself to show Sarah. “Should fit you just fine, dear! What do you think?”

The gown was rather plain, as far as ballgowns were concerned, strapless, and made of polyester and layers of tulle, but she’d only need it for the few minutes it would take to collect Rhiannon and leave.

“It’s very nice,” Sarah said politely, reaching out to touch the skirt. The woman pulled the dress away from Sarah’s hand.

“Looksies, no touchsies, young woman. Not until you’ve cleaned up.” She pointed toward the en suite. “Right in there.”

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” Sarah protested.

“Then you’d better get started,” the woman replied. “And don’t put those filthy clothes back on when you’re done!”

Sarah quickly moved to the en suite, shutting the door behind her. The bathroom was nicely appointed and had clearly been set up for guests. A silver comb and boar bristle brush were laid out on a small vanity next to the sink and a plush, white bathrobe hung from a hook on the back of the door.

Sarah looked at herself in the vanity mirror and was shocked at what she saw. It was no wonder the butler and bouncers hadn’t let her in. Her arms and chest were grey with ash. Luckily, her face and hair had been spared the worst of it and she wouldn’t have to waste time washing and drying her hair. She stoppered the sink and ran the hot water, then stripped down to her bra and panties. Wetting a washcloth, she rubbed it with soap to work up a rich lather before washing the ash from her skin, then ran a fresh basin of water and used a clean washcloth to rinse herself.

Feeling fresher, she turned to her hair, letting it down from her standard work ponytail. She used the comb to work out the snarls, then used the brush to smooth it. The boar bristles tamed the little flyaways, but did little to remove the bend left by the elastic.

She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“One sec!” Sarah shouted. She threw the bathrobe over her shoulders and slipped her arms into the sleeves before cracking the door open to peek outside.

The old woman took in the state of Sarah’s hair, then pushed her way into the bathroom. “Oh no no, that won’t do at all,” she tutted. “Sit here, my dear.” 

Sarah obediently sat at the little stool in front of the vanity and faced the mirror while the old woman grabbed the brush and comb from the sink and began to gather Sarah’s hair back into the ponytail. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I always say,” she chuckled, referring to the bend in Sarah’s hair. “We can work with a ponytail, never you worry, dear.” Up went the hair, back into its ponytail, but then the woman began to section it out, bending each lock around her fingers and pinning it into place. It took only moments to accomplish and in the end, Sarah’s hair was neatly arranged into an elegant bun. 

“No jewelry, I’m afraid,” The woman said, taking Sarah by the elbow and leading her from the bathroom. “Seems people just don’t leave that sort of thing behind.”

“It’s ok,” Sarah responded. “I’m really not going to stay very long,”

“Off with the robe, then,” the old woman said, holding up the green dress.

Sarah shrugged off the robe, sparing only a moment to marvel that she was stripping in front of a stranger. But why should she feel shy in front of an old woman? And at least she was wearing relatively new underwear and not the pair with holes in the elastic.

“Oh, no. That won’t do, either,” the woman said, looking critically at Sarah’s plain, white bra.

Sarah toyed with the straps of her bra. “Do you have a jacket or something to wear over the dress?”

The old woman looked doubtful. “I really don’t think that would work with this particular gown, do you?” Her expression softened into a kind smile. “Now, now, my dear. Don’t be shy. You want to look pretty for the ball!”

“You know,” she began, “This whole thing feels like a twisted version of Cinderella.”

“What’s that, dear?” the woman asked, unfastening the back of the gown and gathering the skirt into her hands.

“Cinderella,” Sarah repeated, reaching behind herself to unclasp the bra. “Only, this Cinderella doesn’t really want to go to the ball. She just has to collect her evil stepsister and get home again.”

The woman chuckled as Sarah dropped her bra to the floor with the bathrobe. “That would make me your fairy godmother, wouldn’t it?” Sarah leaned down and allowed the woman to put the dress over her head.

“I suppose so,” she answered as the polyester and tulle slid into place and the woman began to slide the zipper up the back of the dress. “But I can’t just call you ‘fairy godmother.’ What’s your name?”

“You can call me Agnes, dear,” the woman said as she finished zipping the dress. “There. I think you’re just about ready, don’t you?”

Sarah looked at herself in the full-length mirror that stood in one corner of the suite. Despite the cheap materials, the dress really was beautiful and complimented her coloring and figure. “It’s a little long,” she said, noticing the way the fabric touched the ground all around her. 

Agnes opened the wardrobe and removed a pair of slippers. Though they were simple in design, the quality of their construction was evident in the elegant shape of the low heel and the subtle glow of the golden material from which they were made. If Sarah had seen them in a store, she would have loved them instantly, but the thought of wearing someone else’s cast-off shoes made her wrinkle her nose.

“Now, don’t go making that face!” Agnes scolded. As if reading Sarah’s mind, she continued, “You’ve got no need to worry; these are brand new. Imagine that! Someone abandoning brand new shoes. And such nice ones!” She set the slippers on the floor in front of Sarah.

Sarah stepped hesitantly into the shoes, and was pleasantly surprised. They fit perfectly and cushioned her feet so it felt almost as if she wasn’t wearing shoes at all. And though they didn’t give her enough height to lift the skirt entirely off the floor, they gave her enough to keep from stepping on the hem of the gown.

“Ok, good enough?” Sarah asked the old woman.

“Oh, you’re sure get the king’s attention!” she answered enthusiastically.

Sarah looked away, not wanting to let Agnes know she had no intention of going anywhere near the king.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. She gestured at her clothing, “I’ll get these back to you as soon as I can.”

“Oh, that’s all right, dear.”

Sarah smiled as the old woman took her by the arm and walked her out of the room, back down the corridor, and toward the grand staircase.

Once again, Plaskitt and Burkwhistle blocked her way as she approached. Agnes huffed and released Sarah’s arm.

“What is it this time?” she asked, irritably.

Plaskit’s expression was fierce as he stared down the old woman. Burkwhistle merely stood, expressionless and silent.

Agnes grunted her disapproval. “You can make an exception, can’t you?”

Neither man moved a muscle.

“Fine,” Agnes spit. Sarah looked back at the old woman who suddenly had a mask in her hands. She had only the smallest glimpse of it before Agnes was trying to fit it over her face. As far as she could tell, it was simple, gold, and had green feathers cascading from both sides to tickle her bare shoulders. It fit her well, covering her from forehead to upper lip, leaving only her chin exposed. Agnes finished tying the ribbons securing the mask in place and Plaskitt and Burkwhistle stepped away from the staircase, their movements slow, almost hesitant. Sarah cautiously slipped by them.

“Good luck, dear!” Agnes called. 

Sarah turned and gave her a brief smile, her nerves returning the instant she set foot on the staircase. The old woman’s words echoed in her mind. _You’re sure to get the king’s attention!_ Sarah’s goal was to get Rhiannon out, not to get Jareth’s attention. If he caught her among the partygoers, everything would be ruined: no more evil stepsister, no more elegant invitations, no more fantastic bleeding into the mundane. 

Still, she was grateful for Agnes’s help. The dress was beautiful and the shoes were comfortable. If past experience had taught her anything, it was that running was a distinct possibility when dealing with Jareth. She continued up the stairs, following the noise of the ball already in progress. 

She gasped as she entered the room. It was like nothing she’d encountered when she had first journeyed through the Labyrinth. This room was clean and brightly lit by three enormous, crystal chandeliers staggered across the center of the ceiling. Hundreds of candles scattered on dozens of tables surrounded a gleaming wooden dance floor. White pilasters heavily decorated with gold leaf defined the outer edge of the ballroom, and lavender curtains between each pilaster hinted that something lay hidden in each arched niche.

The party was already in full swing by the time she arrived - no surprise there. She glanced at a clock on the far side of the room and noticed the short hand on the 10 and the long hand pointing straight up to where the 12 would normally have been. She stared at the number 13 on the clock face. There was no denying where she was now.

Despite the hundreds of people in attendance, a glance around the room was all it took to find Rhiannon; she was the only one without a mask. Sarah watched her chat animatedly with a man whose mottled white and tan mask covered his entire face, allowing only his eyes to peer out from under the mask’s heavy brow. Sarah wondered why Plaskitt and Burkwhistle had let Rhiannon through, but quickly noticed a discarded mask on a nearby table. Of course. Rhiannon was far too vain to wear it for long.

Wasting no time, Sarah marched up to Rhiannon and took her by the elbow. “We need to get out of here,” she hissed, trying to lead her out of the room.

Startled, Rhiannon yanked her arm away. “What do you think you’re… Sarah?” she asked, not realizing at first who was trying to escort her away. She laughed and peered closer, trying to look through the eyeholes of Sarah’s mask. Her expression quickly turned from amused to skeptical. “Where did you get that dress?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah said quickly. “Let’s go.”

Rhiannon laughed harshly. “No way! This thing just started and I’m sticking around. Besides, I was just talking to…” She turned back to the masked man, who lifted a flute of sparkling wine from a passing server and presented it to Rhiannon with a flourish. The young woman giggled, giving up on introducing Sarah to her new friend, and took the glass, but she didn’t have an opportunity to raise it to her lips before Sarah plucked it from her hand and poured the contents into the nearest flower arrangement. 

“She is nineteen years old,” Sarah scolded the man, putting herself between him and her stepsister. Rhiannon huffed in irritation.

“You are not to eat or drink anything here. Do you understand?” Sarah said.

“Why are you being such a buzzkill?” Rhiannon asked, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper.

“Because you have no idea where you are or what this is.” Sarah hissed, gesturing to the room. “And I don’t want you to get hurt or trapped.” The excuse sounded good to her ears. Better than the truth, anyway. And wasn’t it at least partly the truth, itself?

The sound of trumpets drowned out Rhiannon’s scoff, but Sarah could still see the roll of her eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, His Majesty, King Jareth of the Goblin Kingdom.” The volume of chatter in the ballroom dropped dramatically as the guests paused their conversations to watch the Goblin King enter the room.

“Shit…” Sarah swore under her breath when she heard the announcement, but her heart leapt into her throat when she finally saw him. He was exactly as she remembered, from his glam rock hair to his skin-tight trousers. Tiny jewels sewn into the fabric of his jacket, so deep red it was nearly black, reflected the candlelight, and, much as she remembered from the first time she had seen him at a ball, his mask was not tied to his face, but rather, held in his hand.

The quiet of the room was disturbed only by an obnoxious giggle. “What’s with that hair?” Rhiannon mock-whispered.

Sarah cringed at the sound of her stepsister’s voice, certain that she would draw Jareth’s attention directly toward them.

“That’s the Goblin King, miss,” her gentleman friend warned, much more quietly, apparently also hoping the young woman’s comment had gone unnoticed.

“Is that like a Prom King?” Rhiannon lowered her voice to match the volume of her friend’s.

“Well, well,” the man said, his worry seemingly giving way to amusement. “You are a naive little thing, aren’t you?” He inched a little closer to Rhiannon.

Her derisive grin had fallen away, her gaze taking on an avaricious edge. “Is there a Goblin Queen?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of Jareth as he neared the dance floor.

“Rhiannon, we have to go!” Sarah insisted.

The man ignored her interruption. “Not yet. But they say that the Goblin King pines for the one who escaped him, a woman of unsurpassed beauty to whom he offered everything if she would only fear, love, and obey him.” The man’s words sounded practiced, as if they were part of an old fairytale.

Sarah blinked in shock. How many people knew about that last confrontation?

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Rhiannon said. “Is he looking for someone to take her place?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes, jealousy blooming in her stomach.

It was impossible to see the man’s expression behind his mask, but Sarah suspected that he had cracked a grin. “He will have no one else. Every year, he holds a ball, hoping she will finally accept his invitation and allow him another chance.”

“He holds an entire ball just hoping she’ll show up? Hasn’t he ever heard of a phone?”

“It is quite a scandal,” the man agreed conspiratorially. “He cannot call upon her and so he sends her notes, and he hopes.”

The click of boots on the wooden floor drew Sarah’s attention back to Jareth. 

“Watch,” the man said in a whisper as Jareth offered his hand to a brunette in a voluminous pink gown and led her to the center of the dance floor. They paused for only a moment before the music started and he began to lead her in the dance.

Sarah remembered dancing with him. She remembered the way he had held her close with a hand that rested not on her hip, but on her lower back. She remembered the way he had held her eye, never looking away, drawing her in with his gaze, making her experience sensations her younger self had never experienced before and that her older self had yet to experience again. She remembered it all vividly, having dwelt on it for far too long in her younger years, replaying the scene again and again in her mind’s eye. His lips moving along to the music. His voice just barely audible above the din of the crowd. The way he made her feel as if they were the only two people in the room.

But he didn’t look that way now. He looked disinterested. Unsatisfied. He led the woman around the room, his steps sure, but his mind obviously elsewhere. As they completed a circuit of the dance floor, other couples joined the dance, moving toward the center of the floor as Jareth and his partner moved to the outside, moving just a bit faster than the others. When the song ended, he and his partner stepped back from each other and bowed. The woman waited, eagerness apparent in her stance, until Jareth turned from her and asked another woman to dance. The first woman, hopes dashed, hung her head and stepped off the dance floor.

“Will he dance with all the women?” Rhiannon’s question pulled Sarah from her reverie.

“No, dear. Just the ones he thinks might be her.”

“But how can he tell? Everyone’s wearing masks.”

“Yes. Poor Goblin King,” the man said, his voice not sounding at all sympathetic. “Looking for his one true love in a room full of imposters. But who wouldn’t want to marry the King of the Labyrinth?”

Sarah’s gaze snapped back to the masked man. _One true love? Marriage?_

“Wait,” Rhiannon said, the man’s words finally fitting together in her head. “He’s a king? Like a _real_ king? Not just king for the night? And he really is looking to marry someone?” 

Sarah rolled her eyes. 

The man in the mask looked at Rhiannon sideways and Sarah wished she could see his expression. “Of course. Why do you think so many women flock to his Samhain ball? Why do you think they hide their faces, hoping they might be mistaken for his love just long enough to charm him?”

“Shit,” Rhiannon said, sounding impressed, then quickly looked around her. “Where did I put that mask?”

“Oh, my dear,” the man said in a patronizing tone. “I’m afraid you never had a chance.”

Rhiannon looked back at him quizzically. “Why not?”

“Your hair. It’s all wrong.”

She reached up and touched her hair, making sure the long, red waves were still in place. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not dark.”

Sarah looked around the room and noticed for the first time the sheer number of brunettes. Hundreds of them. All of them keeping a close eye on their king. A strange emotion bubbled in her gut: a mixture of glee, pride, and jealousy. She surely didn’t want him to find her, but her entire being rebelled at the idea of another woman having him. The realization made her deeply uncomfortable.

“Rhiannon. We need to go _now_ ,” Sarah hissed, hoping the young woman had lost interest now that she knew Jareth wouldn’t be interested.

“Your friend, however,” the man continued, pointing his chin at Sarah, his eyes appraising, “Dark hair. Green eyes. She’s exactly the kind of woman His Majesty will seek tonight.”

Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed and she glared at Sarah. “Go be crazy somewhere else. I don’t need you here.” Sarah knew that tone. Rhiannon has taken the man’s words as a personal insult. And as a challenge.

“Did you not hear him?” Sarah asked, exasperated. “He just told you the guy with the hair and the tight pants is the King of the _goblins_ and you think _I’m_ crazy?” Rhiannon shouldn’t have been taken in by this. She should have dismissed the whole thing as stupid and then stomped off to somewhere a little more familiar to her. This world of magic and danger should have held no appeal for her, and yet she stubbornly refused to leave it behind.

“Here’s what I think, _Sarah_ ,” Rhiannon said her name like a curse. “I think you had your chance and blew it and now you want to keep me from having a turn. Well, I’m not falling for it. So you can go right on back to your miserable life cleaning up other people’s messes. I have a real chance here to get everything I always wanted and you are not going to ruin this for me.” She snagged a glass of champagne from a passing server as she finished her tirade, and, looking Sarah directly in the eye, she downed it in one, long drink, then plonked the crystal flute onto a nearby table. “So fuck off,” she said, ending the conversation. 

For one moment, Sarah was tempted to simply leave her there, consequences be damned, but as she watched her stepsister studying Jareth’s moves, learning the steps of the dances, she became curious. There was no doubt that Rhiannon was going to approach Jareth, but if what the man said was true, Rhiannon was about to be soundly rejected. A small part of Sarah wanted to see it happen. And then she could finally convince Rhiannon to leave. She could go back to her life, and nothing would have to change. Sarah stepped back, keeping several guests between herself and Jareth at all times, and waited. Time passed, and Jareth danced the whole time, switching partners between every song, always choosing a slender brunette from the crowd.

Finally, in the middle of a song, Rhiannon squared her shoulders and stepped onto the dance floor directly into Jareth’s path. 

_She wouldn’t_ , Sarah thought in gleeful horror. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Rhiannon asked.

Sarah grinned when both Jareth and his partner paused in the dance, their way blocked by the woman in red. Jareth’s partner glared at the redhead, but Rhiannon, a salacious smile on her lips, only raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response from Jareth. She was the very picture of confidence. She knew her appeal and knew nobody would deny her.

“Not at all,” Jareth said, his face impassive. “In fact, you may keep her,” he finished. He stepped around Rhiannon and looked into the crowd for another partner.

Rhiannon looked scandalized, and though the woman who had been dancing with Jareth had her face obscured by a mask, her body language left no doubt that she was furious with the young woman in red. 

A guilty chuckle escaped Sarah, and she swallowed the sound quickly, but not before she was joined by several others who had also witnessed Rhiannon’s rejection and humiliation. The sound of their laughter easily drowned out any noise from Sarah. She, however, had no time to enjoy the feeling of vindication; Jareth was scanning the crowd and walking directly toward her.

Panicking, she turned to a tall man in a tricorn hat with two horns curling out of the top. “Wanna dance?” she asked quickly.

The man turned to face her and bowed slightly, extending a single hand for her to take.

Sarah gave him only a cursory glance as she took his hand. His mask was shaped like the head of a goat, and between it and his hat, Sarah could make out almost none of his features. She kept her head low, daring not even a glance in Jareth’s direction. 

Her new dance partner led her onto the floor, placing his hand on her hip and guiding her in the unfamiliar dance. She followed to the best of her ability and was grateful when he didn’t seem to mind the way she stumbled over the steps. She watched from the corner of her eye as Jareth invited yet another brunette to dance with him. However, she quickly lost track of him as he began to once again traverse the dance floor. 

Sarah grinned to herself, her mood significantly lighter. The only thing to do now was grab Rhiannon and get out without being caught.

Rhiannon didn’t waste too much time scowling over Jareth’s treatment of her. Apparently, the young woman still saw the ball as an opportunity to meet rich men. Sarah spotted her chatting up yet another tall, masked man, this one with a single sharp horn jutting from his forehead. Sarah rolled her eyes and banished from her mind catty thoughts about the kind of women who usually attract unicorns. Rhiannon and the unicorn man spoke for only a few seconds before the man turned and walked away. 

_Strike two_ , Sarah smirked. There was no way Rhiannon would want to stay now.

She tried to release her dance partner, removing her hand from where it rested on his shoulder and taking a step toward Rhiannon, but the man refused to let her go, pulling her closer. Sarah felt something hard pressing low against her belly. 

“The dance isn’t over yet, lovely,” he said in a hoarse voice.

For the first time, Sarah really looked at him, studying the small portion of his face that was visible. Square pupils surrounded by jaundiced sclerae peered at her from behind his mask and the black and yellow stubs of his teeth were visible when his mouth split into a sinister grin. 

Sarah yelped in surprise, the sound far louder than she intended. She tried to pull away, but he only pulled her tighter, pressing his hardness against her. 

“May I cut in?” 

The words were deep and smooth and spoken in an accent that Sarah immediately recognized. The goat-man released her with an apologetic, “Of course, Your Majesty,” but Sarah couldn’t bring herself to look at her new dance partner as one of his hands grasped her own and the other settled on her hip. 

He began to lead her in the dance, and she followed, keeping her eyes down, occasionally stealing peeks around the room to find Rhiannon and plan her getaway. The young woman was easy to find, glaring daggers at Sarah from across the room, jealousy written across her features. She had another drink in her hand and Sarah wondered if she had given up on men and was instead intent on becoming drunk.

Sarah wished she could have enjoyed it.

“Nothing, then?”

“What?” she asked, surprised by his question.

“Most women at the very least try to charm me before I grow bored with them,” he sighed.

“I’m not interested in charming you,” Sarah said, and instantly regretted it. If she were any other woman in the room, she’d be simpering, not dismissive.

“Oh, you aren’t?” he replied, sounding amused. “And what makes you so different from every other woman here?” He paused, but only for a second, “Besides your willingness to dance with a satyr, that is. Very bold. You’d be in one of the alcoves by now if I hadn’t stepped in. Or perhaps that was your wish?”

Sarah closed her eyes and shuddered. Of all of the men in the room she could have asked, she had to ask a satyr. She blushed underneath her mask. “I…,” Sarah started, unsure how to answer. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Come now,” he said. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?”

“Of course. If you truly didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be.”

Sarah thought back on the evening. Driving to this strange place, washing to make herself presentable, dressing in an evening gown. So much effort to go to a ball she had successfully ignored for twenty three years. He was right, she realized. She wanted to be here, even if it was only to keep Rhiannon away from Jareth.

“Why do you avoid looking at me?”

“I’m not,” Sarah denied, cringing at the lie, and knowing he would call her on it.

Jareth hummed, a simple acknowledgment that he’d heard her response. Nothing more. Sarah bit her lip; he wasn’t doing anything the way she expected. 

“You remind me of someone,” he said, his voice conversational.

“Oh?” 

“Mm. Yes.”

Sarah’s heart leapt. Had he recognized her? After all these years, would he even know what she looked like? “Who?” she asked.

“A girl I once knew. Hardly more than a child, but with the potential to become something…” he paused as if trying to find the right word, “... remarkable. I offered her everything and she chose instead to return to her mundane existence.”

Sarah’s breath caught, and she cleared her throat. “Why would she do that? If should could have everything, why would she turn it down?”

“Because I took something precious from her: her brother.” She could hear amusement in his voice again, as if he was recalling a fond memory. He leaned in close. “The beat of your heart betrays you, my dear.”

“Huh?” she replied, breathless.

“I can sense that you are nervous. Why should that be? Are you afraid I will steal something from you as well?” He chuckled. “Fear not. I took nothing that the young woman did not offer freely. But she regretted her gift immediately and wanted to rescind her offer. Of course, I cannot allow that without proper compensation.”

“Compensation?”

“Oh, yes,” he purred. “A gift cannot simply be taken back. The giver must compensate the wronged party.”

“How does she do that?”

“‘An eye for an eye.’ The ancient Code.”

Sarah’s mouth went dry. “What would that mean for her? I mean, you wouldn’t really take her eye, right?”

“So full of questions,” Jareth remarked.

The song ended and all of the dancers around Sarah stepped away from their partners and bowed. Jareth, however, kept his hand on Sarah’s hip. She looked around the room helplessly at the dozens of brunette women staring at her with looks of disapproval on what was visible of their faces.

“Ok, well… thank you for the dance,” Sarah said, and much as she had done with the satyr, Sarah tried to pull away from Jareth. 

Jareth’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said, ever so slightly tightening his grip on her hand.

“No?” She could break away from him, she thought, if she really wanted to. He wasn’t holding onto her tightly. She could just pull her hand away and walk out the door.

“No, I wouldn’t take her eye.”

“Oh…” Sarah said dumbly.

“And I don’t think we’re quite done yet,” he said, pulling her closer.

The musicians began a new song and Jareth began to once more move her around the room.

“I think your other guests are unhappy that you’ve danced with me for so long already.”

“So they are,” he agreed flippantly.

They danced, Sarah watching the crowd of women around the perimeter of the dance floor as they became more and more agitated, glaring and whispering to each other until Sarah couldn’t bear to watch them any longer. Instead, she stared at Jareth’s lacy cravat, wondering if his unusual necklace was hidden underneath it. She looked everywhere but his face, afraid of what she might see in his eyes if she dared a glance. 

“Why are you dancing with me? Why not one of the others?”

“As I have said: you remind me of _her_.”

“Just because my hair is brown? That’s hardly unusual.”

“And your eyes,” he said thoughtfully. “You have the same green eyes.”

Sarah was at a loss. “Lots of people have green eyes.” 

“Your scent, though…” 

That startled Sarah. “You can smell me?”

He leaned closer to her and inhaled. “Wood ash,” he said. “Clever.”

Sarah furrowed her brow. She thought she’d washed most of it away. How could he still smell it on her? “What’s so clever about it?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Have you been casting charms unknowingly?” Jareth asked rhetorically. “No,” he answered himself. “I think someone has cast a spell on you. Someone has hidden you. Now, why should you need to hide?” His face split into a grin, the first he’d shown all evening.

Sarah only shook her head. The conversation had gotten away from her. She'd been trying to remain hidden, but she hadn’t had magical help. What was he talking about?

“Your benefactor needs a few more magic lessons, if she hopes to hide anything from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah said, bewildered.

“Wood ash,” Jareth repeated. “But underneath that…” He leaned in again, his nose almost pressing into her neck, and inhaled deeply. Sarah could feel his hair tickle her cheek. The hand that had been on her hip slid behind her and held her closer, tightening around her. Her hands began to shake. “I know who you are,” he singsonged into her ear.

Where was Rhiannon? She searched the crowd for Rhiannon’s red dress and found her grabbing yet another glass from a passing server and drinking half of it in a single gulp.

The enormous clock just over Jareth’s shoulder began to chime and they both turned to see both hands pointing directly at the 13. 

“It’s time to stop hiding, don’t you think, Sarah?” he said without humor. He let go of her and reached for the ribbons tied at the back of her head. 

It was the opportunity Sarah needed to push him away, turn on her heel, and run. She dodged guests who either looked at her with disapproval or laughed raucously as she pushed her way through the crowd. Sarah grabbed Rhiannon’s wrist as she passed by and pulled her along. She was, thankfully, too drunk to put up much of a fight and allowed Sarah to drag her out of the room and down the grand staircase to the front door. She could see Plaskitt and Burkwhistle standing at the bottom of the stairs, but to Sarah’s surprise, they stood to the side, allowing her to pass unimpeded, Rhiannon in tow.

“Why are we running?” Rhiannon shouted as they ran down the stairs and Sarah thanked whatever god might be watching that she wasn’t too drunk to run without falling.

“I’ll tell you later,” Sarah said.

Sarah released Rhiannon in order to grasp the doorknob with both hands and wrench the door open. She didn’t try to grab her again as she stepped through the door…

And back into the ballroom.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stopped dead in her tracks.

Soft music could be heard coming from a small ensemble in some hidden balcony above. On the far side of the room, the clock’s hands pointed to the ten and the thirteen. Near the entrance, Rhiannon stood chatting merrily with a tall, masked man.

Unbidden, a memory returned to her. Jareth, all angles and feathers, bearing down on her. _I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside-down. And I have done it all for you._

She looked at the ballroom, exactly as it had appeared three hours earlier when she’d first arrived, and knew he had done it again.

“Shit,” she hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, it's impossible to make Jareth say, "You remind me..." in any form without immediately singing Magic Dance. I did it. Exulansis did, too. Join us; it's bliss.
> 
> Speaking of Exulansis! She did the beta work on this story and I'm so glad she did, because she asks amazing questions about the plot that help me develop inconsequential details into super-fun plot points. She's also wizard at catching my typos! It's way past my bedtime, though, so a few might have sneaked in since I made my edits. Those are my fault.


	3. Part 3: Reinforcing Expectations

She’d known this was a bad idea. She’d known it the moment the very first invitation had arrived. She may have grown accustomed to receiving the invitations - enjoyed the ritual of it, even - but she had never been, not for one second, tempted to accept. 

She stood in the entrance to the ballroom for the second time that evening, her breath coming in short gasps as she tried to calm her racing heart. He said she’d been hidden. Hidden underneath the scent of wood ash. Had Agnes known? Was that why she’d insisted Sarah wash it off? 

She needed to leave. Sarah marched straight to Rhiannon and took her by the hand.

“What do you think you’re…? Sarah?” Rhiannon tried to pull her hand away, but Sarah held on tight.

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

“Huh uh. No way,” Rhiannon said, planting her feet and pulling her hand from Sarah’s grasp. “Where did you get that dress?” She sounded as if she thought Sarah had stolen it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah replied shortly. “We have to get out of here.”

“So go!” Rhiannon said. “I don’t need you to stay. Why did you follow me, anyway?”

“Because you have no idea what this is or what will happen if you stay,” Sarah said, finding that, this time, her words were completely genuine. Who knew what Jareth might do to Rhiannon if he discovered she was Sarah’s stepsister? “Come on.” Sarah grabbed Rhiannon’s hand once more and tried to pull her along. 

“What the fuck, Sarah? Knock it off!” Rhiannon slipped out of Sarah’s grasp once more, but didn’t wait for Sarah to grab her again, instead turning quickly back to the masked man she’d been talking to. He grabbed a flute of sparkling wine from a passing tray and handed it to her. She smiled at him, pointedly ignoring Sarah, and raised the glass to her lips before Sarah could intervene.

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed in frustration. She’d warned her. What more could she do?

The sound of trumpets interrupted her thoughts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, His Majesty, King Jareth of the Goblin Kingdom.”

The noise of the crowd quieted noticeably as the guests turned to watch Jareth enter.

Sarah ducked behind a tall man in a puffy jacket and floppy hat, hoping that whatever had hidden her earlier in the evening still worked.

“What’s with that hair?” Rhiannon’s question seemed even louder this time.

“That’s the Goblin King, miss.” 

“Is that like a Prom King?” 

Sarah tuned out Rhiannon’s conversation. She wondered if Jareth would behave the same way he had before, choosing a brunette woman from the crowd to dance with. Once he was dancing, she would only need to grab Rhiannon and go.

She would agree to take the cleaning job at her father’s house - she’d even do it for free - if Rhiannon would only agree to leave with her. It wouldn’t be so bad, she told herself. She needed to hire some new staff anyway, and the extra job would give them more work.

She could hear nothing but the faint murmur of the crowd around her - no tapping of boots on a hard, wooden floor, no music. She peeked around the man, hoping to see Jareth offering his hand to the dark-haired woman she’d seen hours earlier, but pulled back in horrified surprise.

Jareth stood watching her, his arms crossed in front of him, as the tall man Sarah had been hiding behind stepped out of the way. Jareth straightened, then bent slightly at the waist, and offered Sarah his gloved hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

Sarah felt the eyes of every guest on her, staring at her as they waited for the ball to begin. She glanced at Rhiannon who stared at her with open-mouthed astonishment. Immiscible emotions swirled inside her: fear, certainly, annoyance that Rhiannon would be so shocked that a man might be interested in Sarah, and a strange sort of satisfaction that she had been chosen over every other woman in the room. 

Jareth was still holding his hand out to her and she could see the glint of amusement in his odd eyes as he waited for her response. Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand in his. She felt as if she were watching from a distance, screaming at herself to stop, but powerless to comply.

His hold was gentle as he closed his hand over hers and led her out onto the dance floor. He turned to face her, placing his free hand on her lower back, pulling her closer than he’d done earlier. The music started, and he began to lead her in the dance.

He looked directly into her eyes, studying her, drinking her in, and this time, she looked right back, ignoring the party-goers around them as they, too, began to dance.

Sarah swallowed her fear. “You turned back the clock,” she accused.

A sharp-toothed grin was his only response. 

“Why?” she asked.

“Oh, Sarah… why do you think?”

Her name on his lips made her stomach flip. It was a common name; she’d heard it plenty of times in plenty of accents, but nobody had ever said it quite the way Jareth did.

“You took three hours from me when I ran your Labyrinth,” she reminded him. “You didn’t have to give them back. Truthfully, I haven’t missed them.”

He laughed at that, spinning her around in time with the music. “You ran out of here so quickly, you hardly had an opportunity to enjoy the celebration. What kind of a host would I be to allow you to leave with such a poor impression of my hospitality?”

“My impression of your hospitality is not poor, I can assure you,” Sarah said, keeping her tone formal.

“No? Tell me, Sarah, how have you taken advantage of what I have to offer you tonight?”

“Your housekeeper was very helpful. I was not-” Sarah struggled for the right words, “-appropriately attired when I arrived here tonight. Agnes found me proper clothes to wear and fixed my hair and everything.” 

“My staff prepared you for the evening?” Sarah thought she saw his expression dim a little.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I was _prepared_ for any of it,” Sarah responded, unsure why Jareth would be upset. “Agnes said these things were left behind. Nobody wanted them. She did me a favor.” She was becoming nervous, hoping she hadn’t exposed Agnes for doing something she shouldn’t have done.

“ _Agnes-_ ” Jareth spit the name, “-clearly was not aware of who you are. Otherwise, she would have done a more thorough job.”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Jareth’s steps faltered as both he and Sarah turned to the redheaded woman who stood in their way, a hand on her thrust-out hip and a come-hither look at on her face directed solely at Jareth.

“I mind,” Jareth said, lifting his chin and looking down his nose at Rhiannon. “I wish to dance with Sarah-” Sarah felt the hand on the small of her back pull her tighter. “-for as long as she will allow.”

Rhiannon’s hand dropped from her hip and curled into a fist. 

“Well, I mean, if you’d prefer dancing with a _maid_ rather than someone with a little more class, be my guest.”

Sarah felt her face color with shame. 

“A maid?” Jareth asked, turning his attention to Sarah.

He knew. It was over.

“I own a small cleaning service,” Sarah explained. She added, perhaps a bit defensively, “It’s a growing business. I have thirteen employees and a small fleet of vehicles.” 

“Ah, an entrepreneur!” Jareth said, seemingly delighted. “Tell me, Sarah, does your business fulfill your dreams?”

Rhiannon clicked her tongue.

Jareth turned his head and looked disdainfully down at the redhead. “Leave us or I shall have you removed.”

Sarah stared at Jareth, trying to make sense of his actions, not caring to watch Rhiannon stomp off the dancefloor.

“Well?” he prompted. “Your dreams?”

Sarah thought over his question for a moment, the shock of his reaction throwing her off her guard. “I suppose so,” she answered slowly. “I have a comfortable life. It’s more than a lot of people without a college education could hope for.”

Jareth didn’t answer immediately, seeming to hesitate before asking his next question. “May I…?” he lifted his hands to her face. “I cannot bear to have your face hidden from me any longer.”

Bewildered, Sarah only stared at him as he reached behind her head and untied the mask. It had not been uncomfortable, but the moment he removed it, she was relieved by its absence.

“And if I may be so bold…”

Sarah felt the pull of her hair relax and the weight of her dress increase. She looked down to find her hair cascading in gentle waves over her shoulders. Gone were the polyester and tulle, replaced with golden silk and silver organza. Delicate strings of champagne pearls graced her decolletage. Sarah moved her skirts and saw the golden slippers Agnes had given her remained on her feet. She looked back at Jareth and saw the look of smug pleasure on his face as he once more gathered her to himself and stepped back into the dance.

“Why?”

“Because you have graced me with your presence this evening, and I would give you anything for your continued company.”

“It’s… beautiful,” Sarah said, struggling and failing to find an appropriate response. “Thank-”

“Do not diminish my gifts by thanking me for them,” Jareth interrupted. “I could not endure the slight.”

Sarah bit her tongue. “I never understood that bit of lore,” she mumbled absently.

“I have created a ball for you, holding it annually for twenty-three years in the hope that you would deign to join us, if only for an evening. I have gifted you a gown of silk and pearls of immeasurable value. And you would dismiss it all with a simple ‘thank you.’”

She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, feeling an inexplicable sense of shame. “I guess I never thought of it like that before.”

“Who is that woman?” Jareth asked.

“Which one?” Sarah said, grateful for the change in subject.

“The one with the red hair. She seems to know you.” 

“Oh. _Her._ ” She bit her lip, deliberating. Jareth had shown no interest in Rhiannon; perhaps she was in no danger, after all. She didn’t bother keeping disdain from coloring her tone. “She’s my stepsister,” she said, her face twisting into a half smile. 

“My, my,” Jareth said, spinning her within the circle of the dance. “The Williams family continues to grow. Have you any children?”

She blushed. “Um… no.”

“And why not?”

Sarah laughed, more out of embarrassment than amusement. “That’s personal.”

“I am aware of that. It is why I am asking.”

They turned on the dancefloor, keeping time with the other dancers. Sarah noticed a number of brunettes turning away from them, going in search of other dance partners. 

“I guess I just never had the opportunity.”

“Surely there was _some_ opportunity,” he said with just a hint of a leer.

She felt herself turn even redder. “No, I mean, I guess there was the _opportunity_ ,” she said, picking up on Jareth’s innuendo. “I just… I never found the right person to settle down with, I guess.”

“You are lovely when you blush.” 

He lifted his hand from her waist to brush a gloved thumb lightly across her cheekbone, seemingly fascinated with rush of blood that colored her face, and Sarah felt her breath catch.

“Your sister-”

“Stepsister,” Sarah corrected.

“Stepsister,” Jareth amended, “For what purpose did you bring her?”

“Actually, I didn’t bring her,” Sarah said, looking away from him, slightly embarrassed. When she looked back, she found him waiting patiently for the rest of her response, one upswept eyebrow raised higher than the other. “She stole the invitation.”

“But that did not stop you from coming.”

“Well, no… I hadn’t intended to come, but…” She stopped talking, afraid of the insult he might infer if she finished the sentence.

“How amusing,” he said.

Sarah furrowed her brow. “How so?”

Jareth spun her around once more, keeping time with the music. She easily followed his lead, the steps having grown familiar.

“It is like the story, is it not? The servant girl attending the ball with her stepsisters and attracting the attention of the handsome and charming prince.”

Sarah thought back on her conversation with Agnes. Somehow, the comparison sat less well with her when Jareth noticed it.

“I’m not a servant,” she said. “I’m a business owner. And I only have the one stepsister.”

“But you agree that I am handsome and charming.” It wasn’t a question, and Sarah couldn’t help the grin that formed as he complimented himself.

“And here I thought you were a king, and not merely a prince.”

He laughed at that. It bubbled up from deep within his chest, and when he released it, Sarah felt lighter than she had in ages.

“Perhaps not a perfect parallel, then,” he acquiesced.

“Maybe not,” Sarah agreed, still smiling. “But I do have the golden slippers.” She kicked out a foot to glance at the shimmering material of the shoe as they moved across the dance floor. 

“Ah, yes. The one appropriate item Agnes provided for you,” he said.

“What was wrong with the rest? I liked that dress.”

“If I had known you were here, I would have dressed you in the finest gowns and jewelry the Goblin Kingdom has to offer.” His chin lifted and the imperious expression returned to his face. He was proud of his kingdom, Sarah could tell. “The dress she provided for you was a cast-off, no better than rubbish. These shoes, however, are goblin-made of the finest materials, woven with real gold, and enchanted to fit their owner perfectly.”

“But they fit _me…_ ” Sarah said. She’d been wearing them for hours and felt no sore spots on her feet nor places where blisters were likely to rise.

The right side of his mouth quirked in the smallest of smiles. “Because they are yours,” he finished for her.

Sarah blinked. “How?” she finally asked.

Jareth only smiled, his eyes focused beyond her for a moment before he looked back at her. “Some things just have a way of finding their owner.”

The small ensemble on the balcony held out the final notes of the song as the dancers stepped away from each other and bowed. Jareth, however, once again tightened his grip on Sarah. And this time, she didn’t question it. She simply waited for the next song to begin to continue their dance.

Around her, several dark-haired women began pairing off with other dance partners. Sarah could see them from the corner of her eye, the way each of them watched her and Jareth as they danced, the realization that they would not get their chance with him tonight, and their eagerness to find the next best partner. Rhiannon was doing something similar. The king may no longer be available, but the room was brimming with eligible men, one of whom might be nearly as wealthy and almost as powerful. Sarah knew that if she tried to go now, she would still have a difficult time taking Rhiannon with her, but she no longer felt an urge to leave.

In fact, she’d begun to wonder if she’d been wrong about Jareth for all these years. She thought back on her time in the Labyrinth, running his maze. She thought about their interactions, first in her parents’ bedroom just after his goblins had spirited Toby away - at her request, she remembered. She remembered the way he’d later talked to her, the intensity in his eyes as he’d leaned over her and asked how she was enjoying his Labyrinth. She remembered her cheeky answer, and the instant change in his demeanor. Mostly, she remembered their final confrontation, his skin as pale as his clothing, and the look on his face when she ignored his offer and declared he had no power over her. She couldn’t have rejected him more thoroughly.

But here she was, held in the circle of his arms, talking with him, and discovering that she was actually having a decent time. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. 

The string ensemble started a new song and Jareth began to lead her in a new dance, the pace faster, the circles they turned more frequent. She enjoyed the quick steps of the dance, and the amused look in Jareth’s eyes when she laughed made something flutter deep inside her. 

She’d known Jareth was attractive from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. He had an undeniable charisma and magnetism, and an indefinable quality that she might have called elegance if she had to put a word to it. But she was also aware of the inherent danger of him. He wasn’t just a man; he was the Goblin King. He was a fairy tale creature she didn’t fully understand. She’d be lying, though, if she said that she wasn’t intrigued by that power, by the fantasy of being loved by a powerful man, by the idea that she might be a tempering force for that power…

She was getting ahead of herself. He was attractive: she would grant him that. She didn’t need to define him beyond that. Not right now.

“You are suddenly very quiet.”

“I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“No, never mind.”

He didn’t push her. He merely continued leading her in the dance, spinning her around in time with the music. 

The song lasted only a couple of minutes, and when it ended he once again held her, while the dancers around them traded partners or left the dance floor, new couples positioning themselves for the next dance.

The next song was slower, and allowed Sarah to catch her breath. “I’m not an expert when it comes to parties like this, but shouldn’t you be mingling more with your guests? You don’t have to spend the whole time with me.”

“I have been waiting twenty-three years to dance with you, Sarah. I find myself quite reluctant to let you go.”

He was holding her so closely that she could almost lay her head against his shoulder, and fought the temptation to do so. It was comforting, being held by him like this, following his lead. He was a magnificent dancer, sure in his steps, and he guided her perfectly in the unfamiliar movements.

“Why?”

“Why?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.

“Why wait twenty-three years. Why wait at all?”

He turned her in time with the music, looking up at the magnificent chandeliers as if gathering his thoughts. “ _You have no power over me_ ,” he quoted, and then looked back down at her, gauging her reaction.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” she said, looking over his shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I meant, why not find another girl? I was hardly suitable girlfriend material at the time.”

“No, you weren’t,” he agreed. “But I was not looking for a girlfriend.” The word sounded strange coming from him, almost as strange as the thought of him having a girlfriend. A wife? A mistress? A lover? All possibilities. But never a girlfriend. He continued, “Truth be told, I wasn’t looking for anything.”

“So then, why…?”

“Why did I offer you, oh, _everything_ ,” he sighed the last word. “Just because I was not looking doesn’t mean I did not see.”

“I was fifteen,” she reminded him. “That’s not ok.”

“You were a child,” he agreed. “And I have no interest in bedding a child. You could have been groomed, however.”

Sarah grimaced. “That word has some pretty negative connotations where I’m from,” she said.

“For the role in which I would have placed you, some grooming would have been appropriate. You would have been trained to be a queen. You would have learned history, politics, and etiquette. You would have been shown the proper ways to dress, groom, and behave. This is the way kings and queens have been trained for millennia. Why should it now have a negative connotation?”

“So it wouldn’t have been…?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

He waited, his expression blank, and she knew she’d have to say the word.

“Sexual?” she whispered.

“Oh, Sarah,” he sighed, his lips turning down into a frown. “What must you think of me?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” she said, suddenly defensive. She realized too late how loud her voice was, and she glanced around at the other dancers to see if they’d noticed. If they did, they didn’t show it. She lowered her voice. “You take me to your Labyrinth and parade around in tight pants looking all…” she used her chin to point in his general direction. “Of course I thought it was sexual,” she hissed, self-consciously glancing around to see if anybody was listening in.

“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah,” he murmured. “What just a little conversation might have cleared up, if only you’d given me a chance.” 

Sarah tsked. “I’m not the one who stole away three hours. We could have done a lot of talking in that time.”

“Touché,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I concede! Would you allow me the honor of making it up to you?”

“How?” she asked, suddenly on guard again.

“Give me tonight,” he said.

Sarah gave him a doubtful glance. “According to my watch, tonight is already in reruns.”

“Ah, but as you so astutely pointed out, I’m merely returning time I took from you.”

Sarah thought for a long moment before replying. “It seems to me that the only smart deal with you is no deal. I may choose to leave at any time, and you may not stop me. I have no intention of negotiating anything that would deny me that freedom.” 

Jareth’s expression hardened.

“But I’m here now,” she added, unwilling to allow him to change her mind. “I’m here and I’m enjoying myself. I’m enjoying being with you.”

He softened then, and she smiled at him, allowing him to whirl her around the room in time with the music. She watched him carefully as they danced and noticed that he watched only her. His eyes stayed on her, studying her as they moved, seeming to take in everything about her. Her mind was also whirling, thoughts of how wrong she’d been about him cluttering her brain. He’d been nothing but gentlemanly since she’d arrived, romancing her and giving her the beautiful things she now wore. Maybe this really was her Cinderella story.

As they danced, they talked. Sarah told him about her life since the Labyrinth, her gradual drift away from the theatre, the menial jobs she took to make ends meet, the decision to start her own company, and the struggles she faced getting it off the ground. She talked about her gratitude for her father’s help, and her guilt over his separation from Karen. They discussed her close relationship with Toby, now twenty-four and in a serious relationship with his long-term boyfriend. Jareth listened actively, interjecting thoughtful comments and asking insightful questions. He was charming and funny, and seemed genuinely pleased when Sarah laughed at his jokes. 

It was a surprise to them both when the clock began to toll the thirteenth hour. She’d grown so comfortable with him that she’d lost track of time entirely. 

“I need to go,” she said.

“Stay.”

Sarah smiled at him. “Send me an invitation next year?” 

“Stay,” he repeated.

“Invite me again,” Sarah said. “I’ll come.” She stood on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek before turning from him. 

Her heart soared as she ran for the entrance. She saw Rhiannon from the corner of her eye, champagne flute in-hand, glowering. Sarah grinned. Jareth had no interest in her stepsister: Rhiannon was in no danger. Sarah flew down the steps, and reached for the door, giddy with happiness and relief. Jareth knew everything about her, and his feelings were unchanged. She had somehow maintained control of the situation. 

She pulled the door open, expecting to step into the chill of an early November morning and instead stepped right back into the ballroom.

The smile dropped from her face and though the room was warm, a shiver crept down her spine. 

This time, she didn’t even have the courage to curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Exulansis didn't already have my undying love and respect, her work as beta on this chapter would have earned them. She is really just so good!


	4. Part 4: Defying Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's read the tags?
> 
> Ok, let's go.

Trapped.

She was trapped, reliving the same three hours again and again. It shouldn’t be possible; he didn’t have this kind of power over her. She was certain of it.

So how was he doing it? And why? She’d promised to come back. He had no reason to keep her.

With the back of her hand, she wiped at the small droplets of sweat that had formed on her brow, evidence of the hours she had spent dancing with him. Hours that were now, somehow, gone. 

Swallowing her fear, she narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders. He couldn’t keep her here; she wouldn’t let him. 

This time, as she approached Rhiannon, she didn’t attempt to convince her to leave. She simply walked to the edge of the dance floor, standing next to her stepsister, waiting for Jareth’s entrance.

“Sarah? What are you…?” Rhiannon paused, looking Sarah up and down before changing her question. “Where did you get that dress?” She sounded more awed than suspicious. 

Sarah ignored the question, keeping her eyes fixed on the far side of the room where Jareth would appear. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d get out of here right now,” she said.

“What?” Rhiannon asked, incredulous. “No way, Sarah! This thing just started! I was just talking to…” She turned to face the tall man she’d been talking with just as he handed her a flute of sparkling wine. She grinned and took the drink, holding it close to her chest while the man turned away to get a glass of his own.

Rhiannon passed the flute to Sarah. “Take this,” she said. “You’re here. May as well party!”

“No thanks,” Sarah said, waving the glass away. “And I wouldn’t drink that, if I were you.”

Rhiannon moved in close, as if to conspire with Sarah. “You think the drinks are drugged?”

Sarah, surprised by her stepsister’s reactions, turned to study Rhiannon and found her looking at the glass with a mixture of disbelief and caution.

“Look, Rhiannon… this place? It’s not what you-”

She was cut off by the sound of trumpets. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, His Majesty, King Jareth of the Goblin Kingdom.”

Sarah left her sentence unfinished, captivated by the sight of Jareth entering the room, his eyes already on hers, his steps unhurried. She crossed her arms across her chest and glared as he sauntered slowly to her, ignoring the masked brunettes that waited eagerly for his attention.

“Woah,” Rhiannon said, under her breath. Sarah braced herself for Rhiannon’s rude comment about Jareth’s hair, but, to her surprise, it didn’t come. “You think he’s, like, Prom King or something?”

Sarah knitted her brow, confused by Rhiannon’s sudden change in behavior and attitude, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the Goblin King as he advanced on her.

“‘Or something,’” Sarah muttered. “Definitely ‘or something.’”

Sarah could hear the quiet whispering begin among the crowd. They’d expected him to choose a random woman from the crowd - likely what he’d done at every Samhain ball for the past twenty-three years - but his behavior had changed, his expression not the disinterested resignation Sarah had seen earlier, but rather the rapt attention of a predator who had just spotted his prey. It was the face of a man who knew what he wanted and knew where to find it.

He stopped directly in front of her.

Rhiannon looked at Jareth and then at Sarah before looking back at Jareth, the shocked and confused expression settling on her face as if it were now a permanent fixture.

He bent slightly at the waist and offered Sarah a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”

“No,” she said, remembering what he had said during the previous three hours she’d spent dancing with him. _I wish to dance with Sarah for as long as she will allow._

“I’ll dance with you,” Rhiannon said, quick to take advantage of an opportunity to charm an obviously powerful man. Sarah shot her a warning glance, and fought the urge to put herself between them.

“If you will not dance, come talk with me,” Jareth said, ignoring Rhiannon, who clucked her tongue in annoyance.

“Why?” Sarah demanded.

“You asked me to invite you again. You said you would come,” he said, his smile growing wider. 

_What’s said is said_ , a voice from her past - his voice - whispered to her.

“I didn’t mean like this-” 

_Oh, you didn’t?_ the voice asked.

“-and you know it,” Sarah finished.

He didn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

She looked at his hand and understood the challenge in his eyes. If she wished to leave, she’d need to hear him out first. 

“Well?” she acquiesced, ignoring his offered hand. “Lead the way.” 

All eyes in the ballroom were on the pair as they walked across the dance floor. The whispers grew into murmurs and quickly into a dull roar as the guests of the ball grew more curious about their king’s unusual behavior and turned to their fellow guests to confirm their suspicions that the beautiful, maskless brunette who reluctantly walked beside him was the woman he’d been searching for all these years.

Sarah noticed the trajectory of Jareth’s path only after he arrived at one of the curtained-off alcoves along the wall: the same place the satyr would have taken her if Jareth hadn’t stepped in. He held aside the lavender curtain, an unspoken invitation for her to enter, and then watched her reaction, his lips pulled into a smirk. She looked around her at the hundreds of guests watching her enter the barely-private space with Jareth, and blushed.

He leaned ever so slightly closer to her. “We can do this where everyone can see, or we can do this privately.”

Sarah lifted her chin and stepped into the alcove. It was just as cramped as she’d expected, most of the space taken up by a small couch piled high with lush pillows. A mirror lined the wall on the other side of the couch, and Sarah couldn’t help but stare at herself and Jareth. 

“Music!” Jareth said, lifting his hand toward the string ensemble in the balcony. Sarah caught a last glimpse of the baffled crowd before Jareth stepped into the alcove behind her, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. The ensemble began to play and the music combined with the gossipping crowd afforded them privacy not offered by the curtain alone.

He was close, closer than she would have liked, and his eyes were lowered, looking at the pearls she wore around her neck. 

She turned to face him, hoping to put a few additional inches between them. “I gave you three hours,” she said. “I could have left at any time, but I gave you that. You can’t keep me here; you don’t have that kind of power.” Her fingers itched to jab him in the chest, but she kept her hands to herself.

“Brash, impudent Sarah,” he said, his gentle tone softening the insults. “Always so certain of the limits of my abilities.”

“This,” Sarah said, gesturing between them. “This right here is why I didn’t want to come. This is why I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t think so, Sarah. I believe you’re glad you came. I believe that you _enjoy_ not trusting me.” He brushed Sarah’s hair off her shoulders. “But if you feel it is unfair of me to ask a dance of you, perhaps you can repay me in other ways.” The leather-clad fingertips of one hand grazed her neck, then traced feather-light over her décolletage.

“Repay you for what?” she asked, flinching away from his touch.

“Now, now,” he cooed, moving his hands to her shoulders and gently turning her to face the mirror. “No need to shiver and quiver; I only wish to shower you with silver and gold.”

Sarah’s eyes widened as she took in her reflection. Her hair was once more swept up, this time in an intricate style, fine strands of silver woven through the locks. The champagne pearls around her neck were replaced by an intricate diamond necklace, the weight of the silver findings heavy around her neck. Gold bracelets and rings with enormous gemstones adorned her wrists and fingers. The biggest change, however, was her gown. Though it still somewhat resembled the green dress in which Agnes had dressed her, it was now golden silk embroidered with what appeared to be strands of gold-dipped thread. The skirt spread around her, filling the alcove in a way neither of the previous gowns could have done.

She scrunched her toes. The shoes felt familiar, comfortable, and though she couldn’t see them, she was certain they were the same gold slippers Agnes had given her.

“I lay the riches of my kingdom at your feet for just a few moments of your time,” he whispered, his lips at her ear. 

Sarah stared at her reflection, trying to assess the value of the clothing and jewels she wore. She’d never have to work again. No more bills. No more unreliable employees. No more needing her father’s help. All for a few moments of her time.

Jareth was close. Too close. His hands were gently caressing her forearms, raising goosebumps, despite the heat radiating from his body. Her breath came faster as he ghosted his lips over her skin.

“Take my gifts,” he said. “Take them and grant my wish.”

“What if I don’t want your gifts?” she asked without conviction. Defiance came naturally to her, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight this battle. Her life would be so much easier. And his hands felt so good. 

“Then I shall take great pleasure in slowly divesting you of them.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckle while working a heavy ring from her finger and dropping it unceremoniously to the floor.

His words should have frightened her, but the increase in her heart rate was definitely not from fear. The feeling was familiar - she’d experienced it every time she’d received one of his invitations - but it had intensified, becoming something she wasn’t sure she could endure, but hoped would last. 

“I thought your interest wasn’t sexual.”

He met her eyes in the mirror, his lips turning up into a smirk. “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked. “You haven’t been a child for quite some time.”

Sarah pulled away slightly, wanting to look at him directly, but his hungry eyes had dipped to her neck as if he were looking for a place to bite. “I don’t get it,” she said.

Jareth hummed lazily, his voice curling upward like a question.

“You’re trying to convince me to stay. And not just for the night.” 

“Oh, Sarah,” he said, turning her to face him once more. “That’s all I’ve ever done.” He leaned down to kiss her neck again, his hands inching upwards from her waist to settle at the curve of her breast.

“But I thought…” She stopped to consider her words. “I thought maybe you were out for revenge. …Because I won.” She gasped as one of his thumbs brushed over a nipple that had just started to peak under the embroidered silk of her dress.

“Who says I’m not?” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “What fine revenge it will be to have you entirely at my mercy, writhing in pleasure beneath me.”

_He wants me._ The words echoed in her mind, again and again, a victory cry and a warning. Desire and trepidation warred within her, the two no longer evenly matched. 

“I’ll keep your gifts,” she said. “And I’ll give you one hour.”

“The celebration of Samhain lasts until sunrise. Keep my gifts and give me until dawn.”

“I can’t stay that long.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Two hours,” Sarah offered, refusing to answer his question. 

“Three.”

“We’ve been here before, Jareth. You cheated me.” She shouldn’t have leaned back against him as she said it. She knew it even as she was doing it.

She could feel his lips pull into a grin as they caressed her cheek. “I merely took you at your word,” he argued lightheartedly.

“See? That’s why the only smart deal with you is no deal,” she said, her words lacking any bite. “I always end up with more than I bargained for.”

“You may have a point,” he said, his voice going husky. His hands circled her waist, pulling her tightly against him. He rocked against her. “What I have to give you will be far more than you expected.” 

She squirmed, hoping to feel through her skirts just how much he had to give her. He gasped, and she grinned. That one little intake of breath was all she needed: evidence of her power over him. 

_He wants me._

She waited.

“There will be no more reordering of time,” he said, his voice strained. “You have my word. Take my word, and take my gifts, but give me these three hours. And then you will be free to go.” 

Her smile grew larger. She could take what she wanted. The gifts, the jewels... the power.

“That is, if you still choose to leave,” he added.

_He wants me._

An image formed in Sarah’s mind of herself spread wide on the couch behind her, skirts pushed up by Jareth’s body nestled snugly between her legs. She couldn’t shake the image, especially with Jareth breathing hot and heavy against her, his lips at her neck, his tongue drawing vague shapes on her skin.

“Three hours?” Sarah asked. Three hours of ecstasy, and then back to the real world. Back to real life and responsibility. Until next year.

“Unless, of course, you choose to stay longer. My home, as ever, is open to you.” He moved from her neck as he whispered to her, his breath hot against her skin as his lips hovered a fraction of an inch over her own.

“Three hours, and not a moment more,” Sarah said, hoping he could hear a warning in her voice, despite not hearing one herself.

“Three hours to convince you to stay,” he said, changing the terms of the agreement. But Sarah found she didn’t care. She had a life and responsibilities to return to and no amount of attention he could show her would remove those responsibilities. But he could help her forget about them for a short while. Help her forget about dirty toilets and dusty tables, territorial dogs, and employees who asked so much of her and gave the bare minimum in return. He could help her remember there was more to life than the responsibility of ensuring her employees were taken care of, that their families could survive. Help her remember that she wasn’t just a boss; she was also a living, breathing woman who wanted more out of life than her job. If only for a short time. If only for three hours.

Jareth’s nose caressed her own, but he hadn’t touched his lips to hers. He was so close, she didn’t dare look up at him, instead keeping her eyes down, almost closed, feeling the heat of his hands as they caressed the silk of her bodice. She almost wished he’d take the dress back and remove the barrier between them.

She tilted her head back only a little, bringing her lips closer to his - so close she could almost feel them. She had only a moment of doubt before throwing caution to the wind and closing the gap between them.

His fingers moved into her hair where they tangled with her intricate hairstyle and the silver strands woven into it. He held her to himself, taking her mouth and suckling her lip. She returned his fervor, running her tongue across his upper lip before gently nibbling.

He pressed against her, encouraging her to step back until she felt the couch pressing against the backs of her legs.

“Jareth,” she whispered, pulling away slightly, her eyes on the curtain separating their little space from the rest of the ballroom. 

He hummed, moving from her mouth to her neck, planting wet kisses along her jaw. He’d slid his hand from her back to just under her breast, his long fingers gripping her side while his thumb slowly, methodically teased her nipple. Each pass of his thumb caused a thrum of excitement to course through her body, but she didn’t dare make the sorts of sounds his movements were trying to coax from her. 

“Jareth,” she repeated more urgently. “Everyone can hear us.”

He hummed again, seemingly in agreement. “Let them,” he replied. 

He licked the shell of her ear and Sarah let out a strangled moan, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. After all, her stepsister was out there, no doubt fuming at the turn the evening had taken. 

“I don’t _want_ them to,” Sarah said, annoyed that she couldn’t seem to cool her ardor, the feel of his slim body hard and hot underneath the heavy, jeweled jacket.

He pulled away just far enough to look into her eyes. “Let’s play a game, shall we?” he said. “I like the idea of them hearing how you react to me, to what I am about to do to you. We know I can make you shiver. Let’s see if I can make you moan. If I can make you scream.” His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her tightly against him so she could feel him even through the layers of her gown. 

Her breath began to come faster.

“And if you win? What do you get?”

“Satisfaction,” Jareth grinned.

“And if you lose?”

“I really don’t think that’s a possibility.”

“This won’t make me stay,” Sarah warned. “I’m not changing the deal.”

“Sarah,” he said seriously, his voice utterly devoid of humor. “If you stay - when you stay-” he corrected himself, “-it will be because you want to stay. Because you choose to stay.”

And, for the first time, Sarah thought he might be right. She’d been wrong about him for so long. He’d done so much for her: the annual balls, the clothing, and the jewels. He showered her with attention, his eye never straying to someone else. And, the most shocking revelation of all, she enjoyed his company. They’d danced and talked and he’d listened, sharing her joy and commiserating with her frustrations. 

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. He was so hot, overheating her, but she couldn’t pull away. She didn’t _want_ to pull away.

She was losing her mind, being just as idiotic as her stepsister. This was going too far. She should leave. She should step around him, push aside the curtain and go. 

But what would she be leaving for? A broken vacuum cleaner and a never-ending parade of messy homes?

Here, her gown was so beautiful, the room so intimate. Jareth smelled so good and felt so hard against her. Who else would have the ability or even the desire to drape her in gold and diamonds. Who else could ever make her feel… precious?

“Jareth,” she said, so softly even she almost didn’t hear it.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers.

“I think,” she started, but then stopped, unsure and afraid. She swallowed and took a breath. “I think I want you.”

She expected him to smile. She expected to see his sharp-toothed grin as he took her, but his expression did not change.

“Prove it,” he said.

She felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly at the challenge. Oh, she’d prove it all right. 

She kissed him again, pouring herself into it, but refusing to make even the smallest of sounds. He was good, she’d grant him that. So far, he’d gotten everything he wanted, but she was going to win this game; she’d make certain of it.

He broke the kiss first, leaning down to nuzzle at her neck, and she let him, but only for a moment before angling herself to nip at his ear.

He groaned and Sarah pulled away.

“Now, now,” she said. “You’ll give the whole thing away if you can’t be quiet. That means _I_ win.”

The look in his eyes was dark, both pupils dilated with desire, and for one brief moment, Sarah’s fear returned. But before she could react, he was kissing her neck and pressing against her and they were both falling into the plush cushions on the couch. 

Sarah let out an involuntary squeak of surprise as he fell on top of her, one of his legs between her own.

“Careful, love,” Jareth grinned down at her. “A little louder and victory will be mine.”

Tangling her fingers into his hair, she tugged him down to kiss him, running her tongue along his lips to encourage him to let her in. He wasn’t hard to convince. 

He kissed with passion and finesse. No wrestling for dominance, but a slow massage, a gentle caress. 

Sarah’s fingers trailed over the gems sewn into his coat and down to the sueded kid of his trousers, feeling the firm muscles of his buttocks beneath the snug leather. He was a study in contrasts, hard and soft, spicy and sweet, generous and cruel and her head spun with delight and terror.

He groaned and Sarah tutted, moving her hands to his chest to push him back. “I did warn you,” she said as she rolled them over so she was now lying on top of him, one knee placed precariously between his legs, the other braced against the floor. “This is more like it, don’t you think?” she breathed against his neck before planting a wet kiss just where she could feel his pulse flutter beneath his skin. She dragged her teeth against his skin to see what kind of response she would get. He stiffened, and pulled her tightly to him, and she felt a thrill of power.

She pulled back, wanting to see his eyes as she moved her fingers down his chest, over his silken shirt and down to his trousers to feel the hard length of him through the thin leather. 

His intake of breath was nearly silent, but his eyes lost focus for a moment before locking onto hers. 

“You’re learning,” she teased, and then she stroked him lightly, dragging her fingers up and down the length of him. 

“Oh, love, you’d be shocked by the things I’ve learned.”

The world spun and she was suddenly underneath him again, her legs dangling from the couch so her toes just brushed the floor, his knee between her own. The movement was too quick for her to register, too fast for her to make a sound. She struggled to sit upright, opening her mouth to protest.

“Now, now,” he soothed. “It would be a shame to lose this little game by shouting in anger, don’t you think?”

She closed her mouth, letting out only a huff of annoyance. 

“Besides, I have plans for you,” he said, a devilish glint in his eye. He leaned close and gave her a long and lingering kiss. 

Sarah relaxed, allowing him to take the lead, enjoying the gentle caress of his kiss. It was easy to let him take control, to stop fighting him for dominance. 

He moved to her neck, nuzzling, licking, and kissing her pulse point. His hand held her firmly under her breast, disallowing her from moving, even if she’d wanted to. He drew his nose down her chest, over the diamond necklace, and to the place where her bodice pushed her breasts together. He licked the cleft and grimaced.

“Ash does not suit you,” he said.

Sarah gave a short laugh and flushed with embarrassment. “A bit of a mishap at work,” she explained. “I thought I got it all when I washed earlier. Sorry.”

“This raises many questions about the sort of people with whom you work.” 

“None I don’t already ask myself on a daily basis, I’m sure.”

“I believe I can think of one or two that may surprise you.”

“I’m sure you’re just full of surprises.”

He grinned and and released his hold on her. Sarah felt movement around her ankles and realized he was gathering her skirts.

“Bit forward,” she said, almost disapprovingly.

“Let’s see if I can find a spot that doesn’t taste of ashes,” he said, the challenge returning to his voice.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat and she felt something low in her stomach tighten. She nodded, briefly, and then he ducked low under her skirts, disappearing from view. But she could feel him, his hot breath tracing up her calf and the occasional kiss or nip as he slowly worked his way up her thigh. She felt his gloved hands hook around the waist of her panties and then slowly peel them away. She lifted herself to help him lower them down her legs.

She stiffened when she felt his hot tongue against her, and then, oh - _oh!_ \- she nearly lost the bet. Pressing her lips together to keep quiet, she reached down to run her fingers through his hair, and encountered only embroidered silk. She needed to touch him, needed him to touch her, but he was out of reach. She began to rock, keeping time with the rhythm of his tongue against her, and he moved to hold her still, wrapping his hands underneath her thighs, and spreading her wide underneath him. She whimpered, then bit her tongue when felt him smile against her before he began lapping at her once more. 

She desperately wished he would let her move. She wanted more friction, wanted to feel him fill her, but he only continued his soft, wide strokes with his tongue.

Moving her hands over her bodice, she cupped her own breasts, squeezing them, imagining it was he who fondled her. She imagined biting the tips of one of his fingers and pulling his glove off with her teeth, fantasizing about the look he would get in his eyes when it was her turn to kneel before him and take him in her mouth.

He took his time, building her excitement slowly, his ministrations soft and tender. It felt like she lived an eternity in the little alcove, her world narrowing down to just him and her. She grew hotter, more tense as he worked, her breath becoming ever more ragged. She tried to rock her hips, to give him some sign that she needed more, but he held her still. She needed something to fill her, something to grip and squeeze. He worked her into a frenzy of need and she caught herself whispering, _yes, yes, yes_ , in an almost-silent mantra. He must have heard, she thought, because he closed his lips around her clit and sucked and it was all she needed, the final push over the edge. She bit her lip as she came, her muscles squeezing nothing, and as she came down, she wanted nothing more than to feel the hard length of him pushing inside, filling that emptiness, finally giving her the one thing for which she desperately wished in that moment.

Her first coherent thought when he emerged from under her skirts was that his smile was both proud and predatory. He hadn’t yet gotten what he wanted, and she was ready to give it to him. He kneeled between her thighs, her skirts bunched around her waist, and slid his hand under her own, taking its place against her breast.

“So sweet,” he whispered, and kissed her. “So sweet and so ready.”

Sarah could only nod. 

“You may be able to pay off your debt far more quickly than I anticipated,” he said. 

He ran his fingers down her neck and over her chest. “You are so beautiful when you are flushed like this.”

Sarah felt herself blush even deeper at his compliment, but then his earlier words registered. “What debt?” Sarah asked.

“You are ripe,” he said, caressing her neck with his lips. “I can taste it.”

“What?” He wasn’t making sense.

“The Ancient Code, Sarah. Have you forgotten already?”

He was moving against her. She could feel the hard length of him through his leather trousers, driving her wild. But his words were beginning to cut through her haze.

“An eye for an eye,” she whispered, wondering what he meant.

“You _do_ remember,” he said, patronizingly.

“What does that have to do with… what are you talking about?”

“You took a child from me, and now you will give me another. I must say, I find the prospect of helping conceive the child more thrilling than I expected.”

The words hit Sarah with all the tenderness of a Mack truck. “What?!” she shouted.

“Oh dear. I do believe you’ve just lost our little wager.”

Sarah looked around frantically, needing to find a way out. He had her pinned, and she kicked herself for letting him trick her into this position. 

_But he didn’t trick me_ , she thought with self-loathing. _I put myself her, one little step after another._ She pushed aside the thought and tried to clear her mind. A tiny voice inside her considered his demand, but the larger portion - the much larger portion - was incoherent with outrage.

“No,” she finally whispered.

“You’re not _surprised_ , are you, Sarah? We discussed this.” He rocked against her. “You owe a debt. If you can think of a more pleasant way to pay it, I will happily hear it.” He licked the column of her neck and Sarah groaned in disgust.

“I _won_. I don’t owe you anything,” she ground out.

He lifted himself slightly to look at her. “Really? After everything I’ve done for you?” he asked. Sarah stared at him in disbelief. He reached between their bodies and she could feel him freeing himself from his trousers.

“I said _no!_ ” Sarah shouted, lifting her knee up to her chest to put her foot on Jareth’s chest and then pushing with all of her might. His expression, first delighted that she had moved into a new, more amenable position for him, changed to outrage as her foot caught him. She pushed him off-balance and he fell hard against the wall. She quickly stood, skirts falling into place, and ran out of the alcove, into the ballroom. 

She knew what she must have looked like to the dancers around her: face flushed, hair mussed, and skirts creased. She ignored their sneers and pushed her way to the stairs knowing Jareth would be right behind her. She rushed down the stairs as quickly as she could, but her legs began to grow heavy, as if she were running through water, and soon, she was unable to pick up her feet at all, losing precious seconds as she struggled against the force holding her feet to the stairs.

_It is like the story, is it not?_ Jareth’s words from earlier flashed through her mind.

Inspired, Sarah slipped her feet from the golden slippers, relieved to discover it was only her shoes that were stuck. “Fucking Cinderella,” she growled as she ran to the door and yanked it open, the early morning chill swirling into the too-hot house. 

She spared one last glance behind her to ensure that Jareth wouldn’t be able to catch her.

But he wasn’t running. He was stooped over, picking up one of her slippers from where it rested on the stair. As he lifted the shoe, he met her gaze.

She froze, hand resting on the door handle, the breeze cold against her heated skin. Where she expected to see anger, defeat, or even a little hurt, there was only amusement, his lips turned in a subtle, cunning smile. 

She knew in that moment that it wasn’t over. Cinderella didn’t end when the girl left the ball; it ended when the prince found her again, with the help of the shoe she’d left behind.

Jareth tapped the heel of the slipper against his hand, then turned from her, and returned to the ball.

“If you want to leave…” 

Sarah jumped and turned to see the old butler gesturing toward the open doorway. She was sure he hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

Sarah looked out the door and down the front steps to where her Blazer sat, keys still in the ignition, inviting her to leave this place and never return. It would be the reasonable thing to do. But then she looked back up the stairs to the ballroom, to Jareth… and to Rhiannon. 

“I have to go back upstairs,” she said, more to herself than to Montjoy.

She ignored his shocked “What?” thinking too hard about what Jareth might do to Rhiannon now that he knew who she was.

Swallowing her fear, Sarah pushed the door closed with an ominous bang and cautiously approached the staircase, dreading returning to the ball. She took each step slowly and deliberately, pausing only to pick up the remaining abandoned slipper from where it lay on the stairs. She wondered what Jareth intended to do with the other. It didn’t fit the story; he already knew who she was and where to find her.

She cast a last, longing look at the front door when she reached the top of the staircase and noticed that Plaskitt and Burkwhistle had joined Montjoy. They stood in the foyer below looking up at her, their expressions almost… regretful.

“You don’t have to go back in,” Burkwhistle said, surprising Sarah, who hadn’t yet heard him speak. His voice was higher than she expected, with just a hint of a lilt. It reminded her of someone from long ago; one of three friends who had offered to go along with her to face her adversary. 

Sarah glanced toward the ballroom and then back at the three men below. “Yes,” she replied. “I do.”

“Why?” Plaskitt asked. Just one short, simple question.

“Because that’s the way it’s done,” she muttered, and entered the ballroom. 

If anyone replied, she didn’t hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to once again thank Exulansis for her work as beta on this fic. She has a flare for Jareth's voice that I just can't match and I find her insight into character motivations and reactions absolutely invaluable. Also, she understands punctuation way better than I do. You are a star, E!


	5. Part 5: Climax and Denouement

Nobody was dancing when she re-entered the ballroom. 

All attention was focused on the center of the room where Jareth stood, one golden shoe in his hand, and a redhead on his arm. His eyes were on Sarah from the moment she entered the room, and the crowd parted as she approached. She stopped at the edge of the dance floor and squared her shoulders, glaring at the Goblin King.

“Let her go,” she said, her voice strong and clear.

Rhiannon, smirking, rolled her eyes and leaned into Jareth.

Jareth, still looking directly at Sarah, addressed the crowd. “For twenty-three years, the Goblin Kingdom has held the annual Samhain Ball in the hopes that its king would finally find his queen. Tonight, that wait has come to an end...” 

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Sarah said, and though she spoke loudly enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd, Jareth took no notice. 

He finally looked away from her, his eyes sweeping over his guests. “The one whose foot fits this golden shoe shall be your new queen!” He held the slipper high, and the crowd cheered.

Sarah clutched the slipper’s mate in her hand and watched as Jareth took Rhiannon gently by the hand and walked her in a small circle. As they turned, a golden wingback chair appeared behind them. Jareth gestured for Rhiannon to sit, and she did, beaming up at him.

“Do you agree?” he asked her, his voice soft. 

Sarah colored, losing her bluster, as Jareth asked Rhiannon to be his queen. She stared as Rhiannon nodded eagerly, seemingly too overwhelmed to speak. 

Jareth smiled widely at Rhiannon before kneeling on a newly-conjured cushioned stool in front of her chair, and gently lifting her foot to remove her black stiletto. Even from where Sarah stood, the angry red imprints left on her skin by the high heel were plainly visible. Jareth noticed them as well and took a moment to massage the marks. 

Rhiannon’s expression changed. She suddenly looked... smitten. She knew she had a rich and powerful man on the hook, but she seemed surprised to discover that she might actually like him.

Satisfied that he had paid proper attention to the growing blisters, Jareth slid the slipper onto Rhiannon’s foot. It dangled off her toes, too small by at least an inch.

“Does this mean…?” She let the sentence hang in the air as if the thought that she wouldn’t be the future queen was just too much to bear.

“Do not let this trouble you, my darling,” Jareth replied warmly. “We need only cut off your toe and it will fit perfectly.”

Rhiannon laughed nervously. “No, but seriously. What should we do?”

Jareth produced a crystal on the fingertips of his left hand and rolled it over his arms to his right where it transformed into a long, double-edged knife.

Rhiannon paled, the nervous smile on her face falling away. “You’re not really… I mean… Your Majesty!” She tried to pull her foot out of his hand, but he held fast, the wingback chair giving her no path of escape.

Sarah screwed her eyes shut.

“Help me!” she pleaded, looking wildly around the room. “Somebody!” A wave of sniggering laughter rolled through the crowd. “Sarah!” she shouted desperately.

Sarah opened her eyes in time to see Jareth bring the knife to Rhiannon’s foot.

“Jareth, stop,” Sarah said, her voice missing most of the commanding tone she’d used earlier.

The crowd, shocked that someone might give their king any kind of command, quieted until Sarah could hear the ticking of the clock from the other side of the room. 

Jareth slowly turned his head to meet Sarah’s eyes. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I ask you to.”

His eyes narrowed and he turned back to Rhiannon’s foot, the tip of the knife piercing her skin. Rhiannon screamed.

Panicking, Sarah said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll give you…” she paused and floundered. “...Something,” she finished lamely, her voice trailing off as horror sank cold fingers deep into her chest. What did she have to give?

He looked at her, assessing, then stood, letting the hand wielding the knife drop to his side.

Sarah noticed Rhiannon struggling to stand from the chair and felt her heart beat a little faster. Finally, her stepsister understood the necessity of leaving immediately. If they could just make a break for it, they could get to the Blazer and get the hell out. 

Jareth didn’t look in Rhiannon’s direction, but raised a palm in her direction, pinning her to the seat. Rhiannon whimpered and Sarah grimaced, her plans for a quick get-away dying before they were fully formed.

“You have my attention,” he said.

Sarah clenched her jaw. She’d have to go through with it, find something he’d want in exchange for not torturing Rhiannon. “What do you want?” she asked.

“You know very well what I want,” he said. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Sarah replied. “But I could give you something else.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You stand before me in borrowed finery…”

“They were gifts. You gave them to me!” Sarah protested.

“In exchange for your time, which you have rescinded.”

“I’m still here,” she argued, fighting to keep her voice calm and measured, to send him the message that she wasn’t frightened. “I haven’t rescinded anything.”

“The question remains, dear Sarah: what favor do you intend to bestow upon me?” His eyes glittered with interest and amusement. Sarah blushed. Her panties were the only thing she’d brought with her into the ball and they were long gone.

“She’ll clean your house!” Rhiannon offered frantically. “For free!”

He turned on her, all humor leaving his face. “Do you think my own extensive staff incapable of keeping my home clean? Or perhaps you feel I am unable to compensate them for their labor.”

Rhiannon cringed and bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes.

“I’ve seen your home, Jareth. It needs all the help it can get,” Sarah interrupted, unwilling to let him turn his wrath on Rhiannon. “But I won’t be cleaning it.”

“I daresay not,” Jareth responded, turning back to Sarah. “Tell me your offer, Sarah. I grow weary of this delay.”

Sarah’s head spun as she tried to think of anything she could offer that Jareth might want.

“What if…?” she started, then paused, closing her eyes and bracing herself. “What if you were able to visit me. By my invitation only, of course,” she hastily added.

“And just how frequently would you extend such an invitation?” he asked and Sarah’s heart sank, hopes of never actually having to invite him fading away.

“You’ve been inviting me here once a year. It seems fair that I would offer the same.”

“Perhaps at Beltane.”

“When is that, exactly?”

A smile spread across his face as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d asked. A couple of women in the crowd tittered, but stopped when Jareth raised his hand in warning. His smile disappeared as he answered, “The first of May. The beginning of the summer season.”

She did the math quickly in her head. Six months. She could cope with six months to plan.

Sarah nodded once. “That would be fine.”

“A deal well made,” he said, smiling widely, showing his teeth. Just a few hours earlier, she would have found it attractive. Now, it made a chill run down her spine. 

He turned back to Rhiannon. “My dear, you look positively terrified. Do not fret so; we can still make the slipper fit if we remove a bit of your heel.”

Sarah rushed forward, outraged. “We had a deal, Jareth!”

“Indeed! I refrain from cutting off her toe in exchange for the ability to visit you every year at Beltane. I assure you, dear Sarah, your stepsister’s toe will remain free from further injury.” Scattered laughter echoed through the crowd. This time, Jareth did not silence them.

Sarah clenched her jaw, angry that she hadn’t been more specific when she made the deal.

“Sarah!” Rhiannon pleaded in a half-whisper.

“I don’t have anything to give!” Sarah shouted in response, frustration fueling her anger.

“Now, now. Don’t lie to the poor girl,” Jareth chided, to the amusement of the crowd.

“Let her go home, Jareth.”

Jareth blinked slowly, knife held at the ready. “And?”

“Let her go home and I will give you… a lock of my hair.” The idea came to her in a flash of inspiration. She had nothing to give, but she could lose a bit of hair.

Jareth’s head tilted ever so slightly. His eyes glittered with interest. 

Sarah’s heart stuttered. His change in expression hinted that she had offered him something of significance, though she didn’t understand why. She was in too deep, but she couldn’t back out now; she needed him to release Rhiannon. 

“You offer a lover’s gift.”

_A lover’s gift?_ she wondered. “You want it, right?”

He sauntered toward her, the knife raised almost threateningly high.

“May I choose which lock?”

“It must be from my head,” Sarah clarified, wondering what embarrassing choice he might have made otherwise.

“I accept your terms,” Jareth said.

Sarah stood stock still while Jareth circled her. Finally, he reached a gloved hand to her ruined hairstyle, pulled a lock from the knot, and cut it away. She reached up to feel the spot where it had been cut, but couldn’t feel any difference. He held the lock of hair before him, staring at it with an odd sort of reverence. He turned from her and walked back toward Rhiannon, still sitting in her chair.

He gestured with his hand and when he turned back to face Sarah, she saw that he had plaited the lock of her hair into his own, her dark strands contrasting with his blond. A mild wave of nausea swept over her, then quickly dissipated.

“Now, my dear,” he said, turning to Rhiannon. “Let’s finish with this nasty business so we may marry.” He knelt on the stool and lifted Rhiannon’s foot once more.

“You agreed to send her home!” Sarah shouted.

“And so I shall,” Jareth replied with infuriating calm. “Once we marry, she shall return home, _as you requested_ , where she may collect whatever she wishes to bring with her to the castle.” He smiled up at Rhiannon. “Do not worry, my dear. As it will be somewhat difficult for you to walk, we will have someone carry your things for you.”

Sarah sputtered with outrage.

Jareth looked back at Sarah with mock confusion. “Is that not what you wanted?” he asked. “Perhaps you might have benefitted from some grooming after all.”

“Just… let her go,” Sarah said. “She didn’t know what she was agreeing to.”

He shook his head and gave her a condescending smile. “You understand the rules far better than that, Sarah.” 

“Let her go, Jareth. Let her leave here unharmed and go back to her family, permanently.”

The room watched as they stared each other down. Jareth quirked an eyebrow and then placed the knife against Rhiannon’s heel.

“Do that and I will give you-” she said quickly, but then she hesitated, struggling to think of something to give him. “-A kiss,” she finally finished.

He laughed, a deep guffaw that came straight from his belly. The crowd, hearing him, began to laugh as well.

He stood. “I’ve had your kiss already, pet. You’ll need to be more creative than that.” He held up the knife, studying it appreciatively.

She bit her lip and wracked her brain for something he may actually want. She remembered their time in the alcove and blushed, embarrassed to offer this in front of so many people. She lifted her chin, hoping the crowd wouldn’t fully understand her offer, “Do that and I will _reciprocate_ the favor you gave me earlier.”

“Ah, Sarah,” Jareth said, lowering the knife and shaking his head. “You are traveling down the wrong road.” He spoke clearly, gesturing broadly with the knife as he ambled to her. “You ask me to give up my intended bride. That is far too valuable a thing for me to part with, even if the memory of your lips wrapped around my most royal self would be recalled fondly for years to come. ‘An eye for an eye,’ Sarah. Your stepsister has entered into an agreement. She may leave, only-” he stopped in front of her, “-if someone else were to take her place.”

Sarah looked at the crowd. Dozens of dark-haired women who had been so eager for Jareth’s attention earlier had slunk to the back of the room, the cruel knife in his hand a reminder that any of them would be expected to fit into a slipper magically designed to fit only its owner. The prospect of sitting in that golden chair seemed to have frightened the last of the merriment from the crowd and they instead stood in silence, hoping not to be noticed. 

Sarah squeezed the shoe in her hands, running her thumb over the supple, golden weave of the fabric. There was only one way Rhiannon could go home: Sarah had to take her place. 

Sarah shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered.

He circled around her slowly, giving her time to change her mind, and stopping only when he once again stood between her and her stepsister. “Very well,” he said.

Jareth returned to the stool in front of Rhiannon. Before Sarah could react, he neatly sliced off a hunk of flesh from Rhiannon’s heel. It fell softly to the floor, bouncing once before laying still, blood streaming from the open wound left behind.

There was a moment of silence, the slight woosh as the crowd collectively gasped, and then, over everything, Rhiannon’s screams.

Sarah’s head spun with horror and disbelief. He’d done it. He’d done it and she hadn’t stopped him. 

And then there was a new sound: the chittering and hissing of goblins. The dirty little things came in from behind her and Sarah skittered to the side, lifting her skirts out of the way, as the goblins crowded around Jareth and Rhiannon, begging like dogs looking for scraps.

Jareth slid the golden slipper onto Rhiannon’s foot, his face impassive though she howled with pain. He skewered the bit of flesh that had fallen to the floor with the tip of his knife and stood, dragging Rhiannon up with him. 

“But you look so shocked!” he said, looking at Sarah. “Could it be that you regret passing up my offer?”

“Is that what you would have done to me? Cut me? Torture me?” Sarah said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

He studied the meat on the tip of his knife. “There is only one woman in this room who has earned the power to control the goblins. One woman the Labyrinth has chosen to be queen.” He met Sarah’s eyes. “And since she refuses both the responsibilities and the-” he smiled slyly, “ _benefits_ of the title… well, my wife and I will need to be creative with our methods of control, won’t we?” Pinching the bloody flesh between two gloved fingers, he removed it from the tip of his knife and then tossed it to the goblins below. 

They fell on it, scrabbling over each other to grab it and consume it. “They don’t remember being human,” Jareth explained, smiling indulgently. “They just know they love the taste.” He pulled Rhiannon close, pressing his lips to her hair. She tried to cringe away from him, but he held tight. “A bit of flesh may pacify them for a time. If they believe they’ll get a treat from you now and then, they might even perform a few simple tasks for you. Or at least refrain from eating you alive all at once.” He grinned when he pulled away from her. “Probably.”

“How could you…?” Sarah started, too nauseated to finish the question.

He shrugged. “You had the power to step in and you chose not to. You may leave here, return to your home, to your little business, and forget your stepsister ever existed.” He paused, studying her expression. “And yet, you seem troubled. Well-” he grinned, “-never let it be said that I am not generous; perhaps I can give you one last chance to trade places with her.” 

In the distance, the clock began to chime. Jareth cocked his head to one side and gave her a faint smile. “Ah, but it seems our time is at an end. Our earlier agreement has been fulfilled and you are free to leave with the gifts I have given you. We will revisit this discussion at Beltane.”

Sarah glanced at the clock in disbelief that three hours had passed, but she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t remember how long she’d spent with him in the alcove. 

“Come, my dear. It is time to acquaint you with your new home.” Rhiannon, tears streaming down her face, looked torn between needing him to bear her weight - her good foot still in a black stiletto - and wanting desperately to be away from him. With a hiss and a snap of teeth, a goblin lunged at her bloodied foot. Rhiannon screamed and fell against Jareth in her attempt to get away from it. 

Jareth steadied her and laughed. 

“Sarah!” she shouted, her cheeks blackened by streaks of mascara.

Sarah felt her heart clench.

“Sarah… please…” Rhiannon said through chattering teeth.

Could she do it, she wondered. Could she just turn and leave Rhiannon here to be fed to the goblins? They were slobbering, crawling over each other, trying to get close enough to lap at the blood that pooled at Rhiannon’s feet. But Sarah had tried! She’d tried so hard to keep Rhiannon from this place, and again to make her leave, but the young woman had refused every single time. Sarah had sworn she wouldn’t make bargains with Jareth, and yet she’d twice bargained on Rhiannon's behalf. Hadn’t Sarah done enough already?

The clock began to strike the hour. One… two… three…

She thought of her father and stepmother. Despite Sarah’s opinion of her new family members, her father loved them. Her father - the man who had raised her after her mother had left, who had always provided for her, even after she left home - did she owe it to him to protect them?

Four… five… six…

Who would take care of her business? She had her employees to think of, all with families of their own to support. 

She was suddenly exhausted. When had she last slept?

Seven… eight… nine…

“Rhiannon,” Sarah said. “Promise me you’ll take care of the business.”

Rhiannon swayed unsteadily and did not answer. 

Ten… eleven… twelve…

“I’ll stay!” Sarah shouted. 

Thirteen.

“Heal her and send her home to her parents, and I’ll stay.” In the end, it had really taken no thought at all. She simply couldn’t leave Rhiannon to this fate, no matter the cost.

A savage grin spread across Jareth’s face. “Say you will marry me,” he demanded.

Sarah bit her lip, unwilling to say the words. 

“Come now, Sarah,” he cajoled. “You have already twice bound us together. You have given me the freedom to come to you during the fertility rituals of Beltane and you have, in front of witnesses, no less, given me a lover’s gift, a symbol of your commitment to me, and to me alone. I ask just one further, small step, and then your sister is free to go.”

Her mouth fell open at his words. She looked at her hair twined into Jareth’s and felt the wave of nausea return. That was why he’d been so eager. She’d bound herself to him and hadn’t even realized she was doing it. He was right; she was damned. But Rhiannon didn’t have to be.

Sarah thought back on the evening, the attempts to keep Rhiannon from this place and the attempts to get her out. The young woman was stubborn and headstrong, but Sarah hadn’t been much different at one point in her life, and if her experience in the Labyrinth had made her a better person, perhaps there was hope for Rhiannon, too... if Sarah could save her.

She ground the words out slowly. “Heal her, send her home to her parents, and swear you will bother none of them, or Toby, ever again…” The air seemed to escape the room before she finished. “And I will marry you.”

Jareth lifted his chin. “I will need a favor to show your promise is made in good faith.”

“I have nothing else to give,” she sighed, weary to the bone.

“A kiss is all I ask.”

Sarah flinched. “A kiss? Now? Why not when I offered one earlier?” 

“A kiss is traditional, I believe,” he answered. “For weddings.”

She shivered at his words. He’d turned this into a sick kind of wedding ceremony, dressing her in the finest clothing and jewels his kingdom could offer and she’d reciprocated with her hair, an intimate symbol of fidelity. She hadn’t yet processed the idea of the Beltane celebrations and refused to consider them. Her chin dropped as the air left her lungs. She stood, hollow, and then gave a single, brief nod. 

She felt outside herself as she walked slowly to Jareth, who still held Rhiannon in his other arm, just barely keeping her from falling over. Sarah could smell him under the meaty stench of Rhiannon’s wound. His scent had become familiar and, until this moment, she had found it pleasant. Now, her stomach churning, she knew she’d always associate it with blood.

“Well?” he said, expectantly.

Sarah braced herself, then leaned in quickly and gave him a peck on the lips. He looked at her sourly. “Sarah,” he said, a warning in his tone. “You and I both know you can do better.”

Blinking away tears, Sarah leaned into him, trying to take herself back to their time in the alcove when she had wanted his kisses. She kissed him softly until he deepened the kiss, his arm twisting around her waist to pull her close. The strange mixture of Rhiannon’s blood mixed with his scent filled her nostrils, but she could still taste herself on his lips. She pulled away and struggled not to retch.

Jareth conjured a crystal in his free hand and offered it to Rhiannon. “Sadly, our love affair is at an end. I hope you will remember me fondly; I know I will remember you much the same way.”

Drawn and pale, Rhiannon only half-heartedly reached for it. The instant she touched it, she vanished, leaving only the bloody slipper behind.

Jareth led Sarah to the chair and she followed in stunned silence, sitting without argument. Gently, he pulled the slipper from Sarah’s hands and slid it onto her foot. A perfect fit. She could hear murmurs from the crowd, but no laughter. He made a subtle gesture with his hand, and the bloody slipper appeared. He moved to put it onto her other foot, but Sarah pulled away, horrified and disgusted.

“Don’t touch me with that.”

“No one shall be my wife except for the one whose foot fits this golden shoe,” he said. “And you have already agreed.” He slid the shoe onto her foot and Sarah cringed as the cold, sticky shoe touched her skin.

His eyes flashed up to meet hers and a grin of triumph slowly spread across his face as he rose from the stool.

“Just one question remains, my love,” he said as he helped her stand from the chair, her slipper making a squelching noise as she put weight on it. “Who attempted to hide you from me tonight?”

Sarah furrowed her brow. He’d mentioned her being hidden—several times, in fact—but she hadn’t known then and didn’t know now how it had happened.

“I don’t…” she began.

“The ash, Sarah. Where did you get it?” He made a complicated gesture with his hands and a crystal appeared between them. He rolled it over his arms, back and forth.

“Nobody… The vacuum cleaner…”

He threw the crystal on the floor in front of himself, and a hunchbacked woman appeared.

She looked startled for a moment, and then realized where she was. She bowed low before Jareth. “Your Majesty.”

“Agnes,” he sneered, stepping toward her.

She began nervously wadding her white apron into her hands.

“You prepared my wife for the evening, is that correct?”

Black spots crept into Sarah’s vision at the word “wife.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then tell me, who is responsible for the ash on her?”

“She came in with it, sire! Montjoy wouldn’t let her upstairs, but I saved her! I thought she might be the one! I even made her wa…”

“Quiet!” he shouted. Agnes closed her mouth with a snap and the rest of the guests fell deathly silent as well. A goblin looked up from the smears that remained of Rhiannon’s blood and cackled.

He lifted his left hand and a crystal appeared on his fingertips. He brought it close to his face, peering into it intently, eyes narrowed. He frowned, then stepped away, leaving the crystal hovering in the air for a few seconds before it fell and smashed on the dancefloor. 

Smoke billowed from the broken crystal, and as it cleared, three men stood, waving the smoke from their faces. They glanced around, then at each other, then at Jareth, and Sarah could see the fear etched on their faces.

“I grow weary of disguises,” Jareth said, holding his hands out, palms up. A light began to glow and spread through the room, growing so bright that everyone - guests, goblins, and Sarah - hid their eyes behind their hands. 

The bright white light faded to a warm, orange glow and Sarah opened her eyes to find herself, and the rest of the ball, in a large, open field. Behind her, two large bonfires burned, their heat so intense that she stumbled into Jareth in her haste to distance herself from them.

He wrapped an arm around her, steadying her, and blocking her view of the three men he’d just conjured. His clothes had changed: a smoke-grey leather jacket replaced his jeweled coat, the frayed tails of the jacket swaying around his ankles as he walked, and black trousers tucked into tall boots. His white shirt with its low neckline exposed a large portion of his chest, but the strange amulet he’d worn when Sarah had first met him was missing.

Sarah looked beyond him to the crowd that remained, and blinked hard, her eyes disbelieving. The guests of the ball had also changed. Gone were the fine clothes and intricate masks, leaving a throng of misshapen creatures in their place. Men with the faces of goats, women covered in bark and vines, and creatures of all shapes and sizes, glaring, grinning, and giggling at her surprise.

Agnes had changed as well, her face lined and pinched, her crisp dress and apron now a rotting grey-brown frock mostly hidden by a stack of junk piled on her back. Sarah recognized her immediately, and closed her eyes, overwhelmed with embarrassment and regret.

_Some fairy godmother_ , she thought bitterly.

“I would have thought the three of you would know better than to come between me and my wife.”

“She ain’t your wife,” said a disgruntled voice. 

“On the contrary,” Jareth replied with satisfaction, “We had a small ceremony just a moment ago. Didn’t we, love?”

Jareth turned slightly, allowing Sarah to see the three men. But Montjoy, Plaskitt, and Burkwhistle were gone, replaced by three very familiar faces. Under different circumstances, Sarah would have been overjoyed to see them, but now she only began to panic, her fear for her friends taking precedence over everything else.

“Get out of here!” she shouted.

“Stay, I think,” Jareth contradicted, his voice low and unhurried. He made no gesture to force them to stay, but the three didn’t move. 

“You tried to hide her from me,” he accused. “And you nearly succeeded. How?”

Ludo looked down at Sir Didymus and Didymus looked up at Hoggle.

Jareth sneered at Hoggle. “How did a cowardly thing like you become their leader?”

Hoggle bristled. “I ain’t no one’s leader. The Labyrinth don’t like what you’re doing.”

Jareth laughed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And so she spoke. To _you_.”

“Why not me? Ain’t no one else in this place gonna stand up for the real ruler.”

The crowd hushed, and Sarah looked from Hoggle to Jareth, confused. She felt left behind, as if she couldn’t quite keep up with the conversation. Real ruler? If that wasn’t Jareth, who was it?

And then, Jareth laughed and the crowd joined him, following his lead. They certainly seemed to think he was the real ruler.

“Let me guess. She gave you the ash and then she disguised you to keep Sarah from accepting the invitation…”

“I ain’t got nothin’ to do with no ash,” Hoggle protested.

Jareth assessed him shrewdly. “If not you, then who?”

“The Labyrinth herself.”

“King bad,” Ludo added.

“Sire, if you would only…” Didymus tried to say.

Jareth eyes sparked with fury. He made a gesture and all three hushed. “Sarah is my wife now; I am the legitimate ruler and the Labyrinth _will_ fall in line.”

Sarah watched with wide eyes, not understanding what they were talking about. One thing seemed clear: Jareth didn’t have the kind of authority she’d assumed he had. And if marrying her legitimized his rule, that would only mean...

He paced in front of the three for a few seconds before adding. “Your treason cannot go unpunished. My darling wife has a fascination with the Ancient Code and punishments involving eyes. I think I shall allow her to choose which one of you will lose one tonight.”

Sarah gasped and tried to step back, but the heat of the fires held her in place. She shook her head in disbelief and horror.

Jareth looked at her, then at her friends. A smile spread across his face. “I believe I understand. One of you-” he peered down at Sir Didymus, “-has already lost an eye. For any of you to lose a single eye would be inequitable.

“Well argued, my love!” he continued. “Which of them will lose _both_ his eyes?”

“Stop,” Sarah begged in a whisper, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Just stop.”

Jareth was instantly in front of her, his hand at her ear, a gloved thumb wiping the tear from her face. He looked at the droplet with morbid fascination, and then brought his thumb to his mouth and licked. His eyes fell closed as he savored the taste.

“Someone will pay for this transgression,” he said, his gentle tone belying the horror of the promise. “But perhaps I will show your friends mercy. Just tonight. In honor of our marriage.” 

Sarah nodded, frantic. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Very well. We will continue this at a later time.” He grinned. “I will need to be careful around you, wife; you make me tenderhearted. Who knows? If you keep me happy, I may stay tenderhearted.” 

She saw the tips of his sharp teeth when he smiled and flinched. His message was clear: Do as I say and I won’t hurt your friends.

He took her arm and placed it in his own, then escorted her between the bonfires, through the heat, and into her new life.

 

The house faded away, and with it went the road and driveway, leaving an old Chevy Blazer stranded in the middle of the woods. The crows took no notice, but a lone woman stood amongst the trees, watching and waiting with expert patience. 

Rhiannon appeared, her legs unprepared to hold her own weight, and she crumpled instantly, hitting the ground hard and startling the crows. They cawed and rattled at her sudden appearance and the groaning, whimpering sounds she made.

The woman in the woods watched as Rhiannon jolted upright and studied her foot, running her fingers over the unmarred skin, then up her body and over her face. The young woman gave a sigh of relief and smiled. The expression lasted only a second before falling into a grimace of anger.

“Fucking asshole,” she shouted into the trees where the house once stood. 

Rhiannon looked at her surroundings and shivered. Standing, she folded her arms against the cold and began walking to Sarah’s abandoned Blazer.

“...wasn’t part of the plan…” she continued, under her breath.

The woman in the woods frowned and gestured to the crows.

First one and then a second left their branches and landed in Rhiannon’s path.

The redhead paused, her brow furrowing.

A third joined the other two and Rhiannon slowly removed her remaining shoe. 

“Go away! Scat!” she shouted.

A fourth landed, and clicked at the others.

Rhiannon threw the shoe. The birds flapped their wings and screamed, but they didn’t scatter. Their cries upset the remaining birds in the trees and they all began to caw.

The woman in the woods narrowed her eyes, a slight smile beginning to form on her face.

Rhiannon turned a slow circle, noticing for the first time the sheer number of inky black birds hiding in the darkness of the trees. Her breath began to come faster.

The hidden woman nodded her head and the birds lifted from the trees, diving straight toward the redhead. Rhiannon turned on her heel and began to run toward the Blazer, and though the twigs, stones, and branches that littered the forest floor scratched and punctured her bare feet, she did not slow. The crows caught her easily, clawing at her with their nails. She covered her face with her arms, and kept running.

The smile left the face of the woman in the woods. She lifted her chin toward a nearby tree, and a root in Rhiannon’s path lifted itself from the soil. Rhiannon tripped on the root and fell, catching a stone in the center of her chest. It knocked the wind out of her and she rocked onto her side, her mouth forming a wide O as she tried and failed to pull air into her lungs. She rolled further, laying flat on the ground, then arching her back, eyes wide, managing only an agonized, groaning wheeze.

The woman in the woods leaned forward, the smile returning to her face. She nodded at the birds and they moved, quick as lightning, two working in tandem to quickly pull out both of Rhiannon’s eyes, others pulling at the optic nerves as they were exposed from their sockets.

It took a moment for Rhiannon to get enough air in her lungs to scream, but when the screaming began, the woman in the woods was its only witness.

She waited, listening to the cawing of the crows and the nearly inhuman cries of the young woman on the ground. The crows calmed and Rhiannon exhausted herself, finally quieting to moans and hitching breaths. Then, the woman in the woods began to close in.

“Hello?” Rhiannon tried to shout, her voice weak and hoarse, as she rolled onto her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the sound of footsteps. “Help! I need help! Hello?”

“You’re going to die out here,” the woman said nonchalantly.

Rhiannon stuttered, “W-what?”

“I said you’re going to die.”

The woman saw the small intake of breath, and signs of recognition in Rhiannon’s body language.

“Tameka? Is that you? Please, I need help!”

“Still thinking only of yourself, I see.”

“Tameka... Please… it hurts.” Rhiannon’s voice was softer now. Meeker.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t go into shock or pass out. I want you nice and lucid for this.”

Rhiannon sat back on her heels and lifted her hands to her face, but didn’t touch herself. “But… how? Why?”

“You and I both know that debts cannot go unpaid. Tonight, you tricked Sarah into paying your mother’s debt. It’s an interesting precedent you set, don’t you think? An innocent paying the debt of the guilty? And so when Jareth demanded the eyes of traitors—”

“No, that’s not fair! Jareth promised to leave us alone!”

“Jareth hasn’t held authority over me for twenty-three years.”

Realization dawned. “It can’t be… You can’t be! She’s dormant. She doesn’t talk to anyone, let alone go wandering around Aboveground!”

“And who told you that?”

Rhiannon whimpered and ignored the question. 

Tameka looked at the pathetic girl; Rhiannon had never been particularly bright. Her short time as a goblin had only exacerbated her cruel, selfish tendencies while doing nothing for her intellect. 

“You did this?” Rhiannon asked.

“Of course I did.”

“Please! Please don’t leave me like this!”

“Give me a reason.”

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“Give me a reason to help you, you snivelling traitor.” 

“I don’t understand…”

“You betrayed your queen.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Rhiannon said through gritted teeth.

“Bullshit. We all have choices. Our queen is regretting several of her own right now.” Tameka could feel Sarah’s horror and despair reverberating deep inside her, rattling the bones she’d constructed to allow her to move around Above, to inveigle her way into Sarah’s life and slowly introduce Sarah to the idea of taking her place as the ruler of the Labyrinth, preparing her to battle the usurper from the throne. If only Tameka had been more honest, more forthcoming. If only she hadn’t trusted the ash and Sarah’s own misgivings about Jareth to keep her safe…

She pushed the thought aside. There’d be time for regrets later.

“I couldn’t stay there! I wasn’t meant to be a filthy, disgusting goblin!” Rhiannon shouted.

“Of course you were,” Tameka said. “It’s why you make such a lousy human being. You should have done as the others do and torture the one who wished you away. Instead you chose to betray an innocent. And not just any innocent, but the one meant to free us all from Jareth’s tyranny. Good work on that, by the way. Well done.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

“Sarah only went to the ball because she was jealous,” Rhiannon spit. “And then she dragged him off to the side and fucked him just to keep him away from me. She’s not as pure as you think.”

Tameka laughed harshly. “‘ _Pure?_ ’ What the fuck does purity have to do with anything?”

“She was going to fire you for that trick you pulled with the ashes.” Tameka could hear panic in Rhiannon’s voice, a desperate attempt to get Tameka on her side.

“You think I needed the job?”

“She’s _not_ a hero!”

_“She saved you!”_

Rhiannon slumped to the ground, resting her forehead on her fists. “Please. I don’t want to die.”

Silence.

“Hello? Tameka? Please!”

Tameka sighed. “Sarah didn’t want you to die, either,” she said, resigned. “She sacrificed herself so that you would live. 

“But she only wished for you to live, and she was so worried about Jareth coming after you that she didn’t give any thought whatsoever to your happiness. And so I will make it a point to ensure that you never have any. 

“Remember that, Rhiannon. Remember as you live your very long life—because I will ensure that you live just as long as my Queen below—that your life is the definition of hell because of your choices today.

“Give my regards to your mother.”

Tameka snapped her fingers and the redheaded young woman vanished, transported to the roadside below where she’d be found and taken to a hospital. Eventually.

Sighing, Tameka pushed her hair off her shoulder. She’d liked this body, liked interacting with Sarah in human ways. But its time was over. Her body began to lose form, becoming insubstantial and formless as she transferred her consciousness back to the stone and earth of the Labyrinth.

She’d failed tonight, her protections not enough to combat Jareth’s machinations and Sarah’s own free will. It was time to consider next steps. 

The battle was lost, but the war was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to extend my deepest, heartfelt gratitude to my friend Exulansis, who helped me through this story, who held my hand through the difficulties and showed superhuman patience as I whined about writing it for the past several months, who beta'd the whole story, and who did both an alpha and a beta read on the last chapter. Her help and guidance mean more to me than I know how to express. Thank you, E. :)
> 
> “No one shall be my wife except for the one whose foot fits this golden shoe,” is quoted directly from Grimm.
> 
> And, as always, this is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story. _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.

**Author's Note:**

> So, about six months ago or so, while KBates was posting _Devoured_ , she had an authors note wishing for more Labyfic based on fairy tales, and I was immediately inspired. The outline for this story came together really quickly, and I thought this fic would be a piece of cake (heh), but it wasn't. At all. And it turned out I really needed a deadline to get it moving. Halloween proved to be that deadline. 
> 
> This is a story in five parts. A rough draft exists of the entire story, and though I have no posting schedule for the remaining chapters, I hope to have it completed by the end of the year.
> 
> Big thank you to Exulansis for agreeing once more to beta my work and make it so much stronger and enjoyable!
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story. _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


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